


ZERO-ONE INFERNO

by Dammit_Jim



Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: Alcoholism, Alien Viruses, Anxiety, Both Rush and Young have issues, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid references and spoilers, Cancer, Canon Divergence, Dark and Possibly Disturbing Imagery, Depression, Gore, Guns, Hostage Situation, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Loads of Angst, Loss, M/M, Mind-link, Panic Attacks, Post season two of SGU, Resolving Unresolved Issues, Rush being his usual self, Self-Harm, Spoilers for entire show, Tags may be changed or added, The Interface Chair, Torture, Trapped in a Simulation, Unhelpful AI’s, Violence, Warnings for Traumatic Flashbacks, Will Have Happy Ending, horror themes, non-permanent death, parental neglect, terminal illness, very slow build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-08-14 15:26:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8019247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dammit_Jim/pseuds/Dammit_Jim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon waking from stasis, the crew discovers a virus in Destiny’s computer that has been left to fester and grow while they were asleep. Rush sits in the Interface Chair in the hopes of destroying the virus from the inside. But when Rush begins to lose himself in the simulation Young chooses to go in after him, and remind him of who he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. LIMBO

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't sure whether this fic should be mature or explicit but as we go along if you think I should make this explicit let me know. I will probably be adding warnings/tags but incase I forget if you see anything in this fic that you think needs tagging please let me know about that too, thanks.
> 
> I would like to just disclaimer that I know almost nothing about programming and so I've had to do a lot of research for that side of things. Please keep that in mind whilst reading. There are also going to be a lot of references to the movie Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, especially in the first few chapters so if you haven’t seen that movie the fic might be confusing at points but if you can stick with it I promise the storytelling will be entertaining. Also, I recommend watching the movie because despite the fact that I hate Westerns I absolutely loved it, and it's now one of my favourite movies.
> 
> All quotes from Dante's The Divine Comedy comes from the Clive James translation.

    

  
**_"From now on, every day feels like your last_ **  
**_forever. Let that be your greatest fear._ **  
**_Your future now is to regret the past._ **  
**_Forget your hopes. They were what brought you here.”_ **

**\- Dante's The Divine Comedy, Canto III**  


    

 

**An unknown error occurred - Error code: Nicholas_RUSH_NR19-6252**

**Would you like to restart the program or continue?**

**> >Restart   >Continue**

_The window’s open and there’s a hostile heat blowing in on a gentle breeze. He feels like he’s on the edge of suffocating in the dust and dirt, and the game he’s playing. The saloon is dark, and has a bronze glow, illuminated merely by the red dirt outside. His cards are slippery in his sweaty hands._

_All of this doesn’t matter. He has to be here, and he has to win._

_He vaguely recognises the man to his right. He thinks he once knew the man’s name, but he doesn’t think it was important; for now the man’s simply a player, just like him._

_“Hit me,” the player demands._

_He flicks a card to the table, and watches the man opposite him as he watches him back._

_“Again,” the player to his right intones._

_He flicks another to the table, and wonders when the player will just give up. He’s not sure how many rounds they’ve been playing but he knows he’s winning. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, either. He supposes that’s a bad thing, but for the life of him he can’t remember why._

_All he knows is this game. All he knows is that he has to win._

 

* * *

 

**Destiny, Three Days Earlier, 07:00 Hours**

Rush watches with barely contained panic as system after system shuts down all over the ship. He feels like he has a bad case of deju vu, and the pressure behind his eyes does nothing to prevent that sensation from washing over him in an unsettling wave of anxiety. For a moment - only a moment - he thinks the problem is mechanical, or at the very least due to prolonged strain on Destiny’s equipment because of their long time in stasis. But the problem is worse than that. There’s something in Destiny’s computer, which looks remarkably similiar to a virus, and it has all the hall marks of the Drone Ship code.

He pulls out his radio, “Rush to Colonel Young. We may have a problem.”

He calls Eli, too, and when they’re all in the Control Interface Room he begins to explain the bad news.

“Our plan to rewrite the Drone recognition software, to make them attack their own…they’d already thought of that and put a safe-guard in place.”

Eli clenches his jaw and looks away in distress, probably already having guessed what he’s about to say next. They’ve all noticed, since waking up, that something was wrong with Destiny’s systems; if the flickering lights, unbudging doors and dead monitors weren’t evidence enough, the power surges that resulted in two deaths were.

“They let us reprogram the drones,” Rush continues. “The dormant ships helped us get out of that battle but the one onboard…” he sighs, “it downloaded a virus into Destiny’s computer. It was just small enough that we missed it, and while we’ve been in stasis, that virus has grown.”

“The drone wasn’t taking orders from the new command ship. I thought- I thought that meant- Shit, I should have checked.” Eli exclaims, “If I hadn’t suggested bringing one aboard-”

“We’d all have been dead by now!” Rush snaps. “We had no other plan. Yours was the best option we had.”

Young stands, and walks over to the young man whose in the midst of gritting his teeth. “Rush is right,” he says. He claps a reassuring hand on Eli’s shoulder. “We all agreed to it, and that meant agreeing to the consequences of that decision.” Then he looks to Rush, “What can we do?”

But Rush has no clue. He shakes his head, not looking up from the monitor before him. “If we’d had time…If we hadn’t been in the midst of battle I would have put in a fail-safe, myself,” he says. This is all his fault. He should have recognised the signs. “I would have severed that monitor from Destiny’s computer…” he trails off, “or put a program in place to watch out for that sort of thing. I ran diagnostics after the incident but I…” He sighs, before growling out a frustrated: “I didn’t think of this.”

“It’s not your fault, either, Rush.”

He glances up, and gives the Colonel a look. He thinks it probably seems angry, but he doesn’t have the energy to school his features into anything but this detached expression. He’s not sure if the Colonel blames him or not. He just knows that he doesn’t blame Eli.

“We were in a tight spot,” Young continues, looking between them. “You couldn’t have known.” 

Neither of them answer.

“So what happens if we don’t fix this?”

“If we don’t stop the virus there’ll be nothing left of Destiny’s computer,” Rush explains, “and without the computer…”

“We’re dead in the water,” Young finishes for him.

“Worse than that,” Rush corrects. “We’re dead altogether.”

 

* * *

 

_The player throws his cards to the table. “Bust,” he growls, before crossing his arms._

_He wonders how many games they’ve played. He wonders how many games he’s won. Has he even lost any?_

_The man opposite him sits up straighter and gives him a dark-eyed glance, “Looks like you just about cleaned everybody out, Nick.”_

_It takes him a moment to process the name, and realise it’s his own._

_“You haven’t lost a hand since you got the deal.”_

_He doesn’t reply, as he picks the cards up from the table. He doesn’t have time to reply as numbers begin forming in his head, as he begins remembering names, recognising the faces of the players._

_“What’s the secret of your success?” Telford asks._

_Rush looks up, and doesn’t quite understand the question. He doesn’t think it’s about the game; not this card game. He thinks it’s about something bigger, about something more than him and this game and winning._

_“Resolve,” he answers, automatically._

_There’s barely a moment of silence before the player on his right snorts in disbelief. Rush recognises him as McKay._

 

* * *

 

**Destiny, Three Days Earlier, 14:00 Hours**

“What can we do?” Wray asks, once they have her up-to-date. “There has to be something we can do.”

Rush nods, but not before clenching his jaw. There’s a look in his eyes; somewhere between displeasure and reluctant acknowledgement, and Young knows that expression means nothing but bad news.

He turns to Rush, already shaking his head, “No! We’re not using the _damn_ chair.”

The mathematician glares, “It’s mostly safe.”

“ _Mostly_ isn’t enough.”

“We can’t ask anyone to do that,” Wray complains, giving Young a warning look. “We don’t know what would happen.”

“I have a fairly good idea, actually,” Rush answers, coldly. “Plus, we won’t have to ask. I’ll do it.”

“You?” Young scoffs. He wonders if this is because the man feels guilty. He doubts it. He probably has an ulterior motive; he always does. “You’d really risk your life for the sake of the crew?”

Rush gives him an exasperated look, before answering, “Not only am I the only one qualified, but I’ve sat in the Interface Chair, before, _twice._ ”

Young waits for the other shoe to drop.

“And I’d rather not put my life in the hands of someone else.”

There it is. Young shakes his head. “How heroic of you,” he growls, sarcastically.

“You’re wasting time we don’t have, _Colonel._ ” Rush seethes. “If I try to sit in the chair are you gonna stop me?”

Young takes a deep breath, and grits his teeth.

“You can’t seriously be considering this?” Wray demands.

But what other choice does he have? Rush thinks the situation is dire enough that he wants to deal with it himself, and no one else is offering up an alternative. He gives Wray an unhappy smile, before unhooking his radio from his belt, “Young to Lieutenant Johansen.”

_“Lieutenant Johansen here.”_

“We’re going to be using the chair, Lieutenant.” 

There’s an unsure pause on the other end, before Tamara replies with a steady, _“You want me to bring monitoring equipment.”_

“And anything else you think might help,” Young answers.

Rush gives him a tight-lipped nod.

He can’t believe he’s agreed to this.

 

* * *

 

_“Let’s just you and me play, Nick.”_

_Rush thinks he’s reached a new point in the game. He doesn’t remember ever playing against Telford. No, now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t. He’s played many rounds - too many to count - but they’ve all been against McKay. He’d won all of those. He’s interested to see where this will take him. He deals, and watches Telford smile. It’s a crooked smile, more teeth than charm. In the dark it’s all he sees; that and the whites of the man’s eyes._

_“Hit me,” Telford says._

_Rush throws a card to the table. Telford is still smiling, and his teeth and eyes glint gold in the dim orange light._

_“Again.”_

 

* * *

 

**Destiny, Two Hours Earlier, 21:00 Hours**

“The errors back!” Eli exclaims, urgently, from behind his monitor. 

Young stares at Rush from where he’s lying on the gurney, connected up to an IV and other, beeping, equipment. They had previously planned on plugging him straight into the chair but Rush had decided that it would be safer and possibly easier to disconnect him externally, if the chair weren’t physically locking him in place. It also helped that Eli and Rush had been working on alternative methods of connecting people’s brains to Destiny - of course, neither of them had told Young they were working on this. He didn’t have the time or ability to be mad at them, though, because it looked like this was going to be a hell of a lot safer than sitting straight in the chair. 

Rush had looked peaceful and ethereal in the chair; he’d looked like he’d been asleep or resting. Tamara had said it was something similiar but Young’s skeptical, especially now, as he considers Rush’s perfectly still body as it lays on the gurney. His chest is barely moving and if Young didn’t know any better he’d think he was dead.

“Do I reset?” Eli asks.

Young turns to Tamara where she stands beside the gurney.

She’s gritting her teeth and giving her monitors a worried look. “He can’t keep this up,” she explains. “His vitals are becoming fainter every time we reset the program.”

Eli nodded, “The virus is getting to him. He’s getting caught up in the code. Every time I reset the program he forgets why he’s even there. But...we have to restart or...”

“Or he dies,” Young finishes; it’s not a question.

The first run of the program had lasted five hours, and towards the end an error had appeared. Eli said it was a small glitch, something about the virus attacking Rush’s mind, and making the program reject him. He’d asked Eli to overrun the error and let the program continue. Rush had flat-lined, and by the time Tamara had got him back she was shaking.

Since then their only option had been to reset Rush to the beginning of his simulation, and wait with baited breath to see if he would succeed this time in getting into Destiny’s mainframe. He had yet to succeed, and after flat-lining three more times Young decides he’s going to have to make a tough command decision soon. Either, he leaves Rush connected to Destiny in hopes he’ll succeed, with a high chance he’ll die in the process, or he pulls him out and they find another solution. 

There’s possibly a third option but he likes it even less than the other two.

“What can we do, Eli?” he asks, hoping for some kind of alternative.

The young man frowns, “He needs help. Otherwise,” he sighs, “otherwise we sever the connection…”

Young glances at Eli, who is worrying his bottom lip, “I’m hearing a ‘but’?”

Eli nods, “But even then, Destiny’s barely recognising her own programming. I don’t know how much of him we’ll get back.”

“So, if we sever the connection now we could lose Destiny, as well as him?” Young asks.

Eli nods, hesitantly, “In the not-so-long run, Destiny, in the short run, Rush, yes.”

That settles it then. “We’ve managed to upload several minds to Destiny’s mainframe before. What about now?” he asks. “Do you think you could link someone else up to the chair?”

Eli’s eyes widen, “So they can go in and help, Rush? That’s brilliant! I - ” he pauses, before nodding. “I could do it. I’d have to run an extra program to allow someone access but that’s no trouble. Who were you thinking of sending in? Me? Brody?”

Young shakes his head, “No, me.”

There’s evident dissatisfaction at his comment, as both Tamara and Eli shake their heads at once.

“You can’t, Sir,” Tamara says. “We need you here.”

“We could lose you both!” Eli exclaims.

“I haven’t been any help at all during this entire ordeal,” Young counters. “If Rush needs someone in there with him it’s gotta be someone who isn’t needed out here.” He waves a hand at Eli, “You said the person going in just needs to remind him of what he’s doing, right? There’s no need for me to know anything about programming.”

Eli reluctantly nods, “Yes, but it’s going to be…really overwhelming. I mean,” he winces, “you’re gonna be in pretty close quarters with Rush’s mind.”

Young tries not to let his distress in response to that unsavoury notion show on his face but he’s not quite sure he succeeds. Either way, Eli’s giving him a worried look.

“There is a much higher chance of success if Rush has help, but…there’s also a fairly high chance that you could get overwhelmed too,” Eli frowns. “If I went I might have more luck, though,” he adds.

Young isn’t sure if he’s implying that he’s got a stronger mind than him or a smarter one, but it doesn’t matter which in the end because he’s the one whose got to do this. “No, Eli. We need the _whole_ science team out here, including you.” He turns to look at Rush, and imagines he’ll be in a similiar dead-still position in a moment, “This is my decision, and I decide I’m going in.”

“I guess I’ll be needing more equipment then,” Tamara says with a tight-lipped grimace.

He gives her a reassuring smile, but she doesn’t return it. Instead, she looks detached like she can’t quite understand his decision. When she leaves the room, he leaves with her.

“TJ,” he calls. 

She stops for only a moment, before continuing down the hall. He has to jog to catch up to her.

“TJ,” he repeats, placing a hand on her arm, “It’s going to be alright.”

She shrugs him off, “How do you know that!” She looks betrayed. “You could die, and there’d be nothing I could do! Do you know what that’d do to me? To all of us?”

“What other choice do we have?” he asks her, because he’s open to suggestions but she can’t really expect him to send Eli into the program, instead.

She lets out a long, exhausted sigh, before replying, “I know that. I just…I can’t bear to lose you. You’re not meant to die before me.”

That hurts. He looks away for a moment, trying not to let it show. “You’ll still have Varro,” and he says it in a matter-of-fact tone because it’s true. She’s moved on, and she has Varro.

She stops in her tracks, and turns to give him a horrified look. “That doesn’t mean I’ll miss you any less!” she exclaims angrily. “You’re still my friend. You’ve…you’ve helped me through some difficult times and I couldn’t…I don’t think…” she trails off, and there’s tears in her eyes.

He places a hand on her arm, and tries that reassuring smile once more, “It’s going to be alright. We have to fix this thing. Plus, when Rush wakes up somebody's gotta tell him he’s a lot of work.”

She smiles this time, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. He wipes away the tear, streaking down her face, and pulls her into a hug.

 

* * *

 

_He grits his teeth, and it feels like an age before he manages to pick a card from his pack and place it on the table. Everything feels slower, everything heavier, even his eyelids. How long have they been playing, he thinks. He thinks they’ve barely begun. He thinks it’s barely been one game. He knows he’s losing time._

_“Bust,” Telford growls, behind an unwavering grin._

_He lost, so why is he grinning?_

_Rush tries to ignore it as he takes the money; feels the numbers explode across his vision, code flowing through him, into him, awakening his muscles and reminding him that this isn’t a game. That there’s a reason he’s here. He just can’t remember what that reason is. He’s not sure who the man in front of him is, either. It’s certainly not Telford, after all._

_“You’re a hellova card player, Nick.”_

_He doesn’t answer as he collects the numbers, unwraps the packages of code and starts recognising patterns. He’s beginning to understand. He’s here to unlock something. The Ninth Chevron? No, he’d already done that. He’d already answered that question._

_“I know, because I’m a hellova card player,” Telford continues, still grinning, “and I can’t even spot how you’re cheating.”_

_That hits home. He hadn’t cheated. He knows he hadn’t cheated. He just doesn’t know what it was he supposedly didn’t cheat at. Was it another game? Was it something to do with numbers? Probably. He knows numbers._

_There’s tension in the air, and McKay sees what he’s doing, or rather feels it. They’re still in a saloon in the middle of nowhere and it’s still gloomy and dusty and all too real, but both Not-Telford and Not-McKay can feel what he’s doing, can feel the numbers and code slipping from between their fingers and landing in his lap._

_Not-McKay stands up and walks away. He’s not important. He’s only base code. Not-Telford is the important one._

_“Leave it and go.” Not-Telford is referring to the code but Rush, on instinct, looks down at the money he’s collected in his hands. Not-Telford stands; the grin is gone. “You need to leave, Nick,” he restates, his hand hovering over the gun at his hip._

 

* * *

 

**An unknown error occurred - Error code: Everett_YOUNG_EY19-6846**

**Would you like to restart the program or continue?**

**> Restart   >>Continue**

The first thing he knows is that it’s damn hot.

It’s hot and red, and he’s forced to hold a hand up to shade his eyes from the sun and the dust kicking up into his face. He looks about and is surprised to find a haphazard town of wooden houses. They look old, and worn, and well-used. His clothes are the same. He’s wearing a button-down shirt, worn brown pants, and a jacket that looks like it’s definitely seen better days. There are holsters on his hips, and the guns sitting snug in them look antique. He feels the material of his shirt, feels the dust come off it. It looks too real. He dips down to take a handful of the dirt, and feels the grit between his fingers, feels the red stuff stick to his damp palms, and fly from his weak grip. It certainly feels damn real.

He knows it’s a simulation, though, and that’s good, he guesses. He’d expected to be able to tell; although maybe he shouldn’t have, since Rush was apparently having difficulty. He tries to look for any signs that this isn’t real because it’s not like he can tell. He just knows. He squints against the glare and looks for…for…he’s not quite sure what, but for something not quite right.

And then it hits him.

Everything’s in sepia-tone. He looks about and almost laughs. The desert, the old buildings, the gun holsters on his hips; it’s as if he’s in some kind of western movie. All he needs now is a ball of hay to roll by. He’s only a little surprised that his mind has conjured up this kind of illusion. Although, it’s odd to suddenly realise that he’s seeing in sepia-tones. He feels like he’s wearing tinted glasses.

It’s not the only thing that’s odd, though; there’s an underlying weirdness about everything. He can feel it more than see it. There’s just something too perfect about his surroundings, something wrong, and then with a shattering clarity everything about him breaks apart, cascading into ones and zeroes, in a chaotic lacerating madness that tears him from reality. He feels, simultaneously, like he’s drowning and flying, and his heads exploding and all he wants is stability, and then with a jolt he’s back on solid ground. He doubles over, and is sick across the red earth. The bile leaves an acid taste in his mouth. 

“ _God,_ ” he splutters, wiping the muck from his face.

He wonders, absently if he can get rid of it. He’d managed to do more just a moment ago. He’d ripped the entire simulation apart. He’s not sure if that’s easy to do, or if it’s a feat in itself but he’s in no hurry to experience it again.

So, instead, he wonders where he should start looking for Rush, and heads further into town.

 

* * *

 

He’s not quite sure how he finds Rush but after thinking of the man he’s drawn to some run-down looking saloon. It’s only when he steps inside and sees Rush sitting at the table that he suddenly recognises what Western he’s in; and really, he should have figured this out sooner because it’s the only thing they have in common: _Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid._

He notices what’s happening, and is only slightly surprised to see that Telford is the one standing over Rush in a threatening stance; his hand suspended over his gun. “You need to leave, Nick,” the man says.

Rush hasn’t seen him standing in the doorway yet, and looks unfazed by Telford’s comment. Young isn’t sure if Rush is going to say anything, but he knows what his role is now, so he supposes it wouldn’t have mattered if he had. He’s tempted to quote the movie here and say something along the lines of: _‘Well, we seem to be a little short on brotherly love around here.’_ But he also knows they’re not here to have fun, so instead he clears his throat.

“Maybe you should listen to him.”

All three of the men turn to look at him - and is that McKay in the corner, there? Looks like it. Young holds Rush’s gaze with his own and the man’s eyes glaze over for a moment before recognition dawns on his face and he looks angry.

“If _you’re_ with him, you better get yourself out of here, too,” Telford warns.

“We’re going,” Young explains, walking over to Rush’s side, and dipping down to his level. “Come on.”

“I didn’t cheat,” Rush snaps back, as if not having heard him.

It’s aimed at Telford, and Young recognises the quote from the movie. He wonders if Rush thinks he’s actually playing a game of Black-Jack in a saloon in the middle of nowhere. He knows that if they don’t go Telford might shoot them. It didn’t happen in the movie but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen now, and Eli had warned them that any physical danger within the simulation could also be harmful to them outside.

“Come on,” Young repeats, more forcibly this time.

“I didn’t cheat,” Rush repeats.

“You can die,” Telford snaps. “For that matter, you can both die.”

Young shakes his head, and wonders if Rush really thinks he’s Sundance. “You hear that?” he asks, and he’s trying to appeal to Rush’s survival instinct because it’s never seemed to fail before. Rush doesn’t budge.

“If he invites us to stay,” Rush growls, “then we’ll go.”

“What?” Young demands, “We’re leaving anyway. What’s that gonna prove?”

Rush finally looks at him, and it’s one of his calculating looks; one of the many Young doesn’t like. “He’s gotta invite us to stick around,” the mathematician insists.

“He could shoot you,” Young says sharply. “Eli said if we get hurt in here we might get hurt out there too.”

Rush rolls his eyes and grits his teeth, muttering under his breath, “That’s just what I wanta hear.”

“We have to get out of here. We’ve got to fix the ship.”

Rush is staring at Telford, and at his gun holster, when he replies, “I’m _trying_ to fix the ship.”

Young’s confused for a moment before it begins to dawn on him what the problem is. Eli had said Rush was having difficulty getting into Destiny’s programming, as if the program was rejecting Rush. He eyes Telford and McKay and realises this is all a simulated representation of that. He stands and wanders over to Telford, and finds himself, amusingly, quoting his favourite movie to _literally_ save their own lives.

“Could you maybe ask us to stick around?” he asks.

Telford looks confused, “What?”

“You don’t have to understand it, just… _ask_ us to stick around.”

Telford’s eyes glint dangerously and he shoves Young away from him. It’s a defensive gesture. Destiny’s scared. She’s scared of letting them in. Fear is one of the most dangerous emotions, and he knows she could kill them both with a thought.

He turns to Rush. “I tried. We both did,” he says, with finality. “Now, come on, Rush.”

There’s movement out of the corner of his eye and Rush looks up, in intrigue. Young turns to see Telford eyeing them curiously, and looking between them with sudden recognition dawning on his face. 

“I didn’t know you were Rush, when I said that you were cheatin’,” Telford explains. 

Young isn’t exactly sure what’s going on but it seems like it’s an improvement.

“I draw on you,” Telford continues, pausing to swallow nervously, “you’ll kill me.”

Rush stands, but moves no further than that; doesn’t place his hand on his holster, “I’m not here to kill you.”

Young looks between them, and shrugs, “So, why don’t you just invite us to stick around?” he asks, again. “You can do it, come on.”

Telford is still looking unsure, but after a moment he nods. “Why don’t you stick around?” he asks, hesitantly.

Young watches as Rush visibly relaxes. 

“Thanks, but we gotta get going,” Young replies, and they both head for the door.

“Nick? Hey Nick!” 

Rush pauses, but doesn’t turn around and Young watches him, hoping to God that Rush isn’t going to do something stupid like fire his gun.

“How good are you?” Telford asks.

Rush doesn’t reply, and leaves the saloon. Young glances back in time to see Telford’s worried grimace deepen into a look of anxious defeat. It’s not an expression he’s ever seen on the man before and if he couldn’t tell already, he’d know from that look alone, that it was someone else, or something else, wearing his face.

 

* * *

 

“Rush?” Young asks, once they’re well and truly clear of the saloon. “Rush, you okay?”

“ _Fine,_ ” he snaps, and then sighs. “How long?”

“A couple days. You didn’t feel it?”

Rush shakes his head, and gives a shaky breath, “Evidently not. Felt like hours.” He gives Young a once over, and then looks down at his own clothing, as if only just realising who they’re dressed as. He let’s out an exasperated sigh, before shaking his head. “So they sent you in here once they realised I was stuck.”

“ _I_ sent me in here.”

“And you didn’t pick Eli, because…?”

“Because the person going in might not be coming back.”

Rush finally looks at him, properly, and begins studying his face. Young isn’t sure what he’s looking for but after a moment it seems as if he hasn’t found it. He looks relieved. “Couldn’t get enough of me, Colonel?” he asks, mockingly. “You just had to come on in here and get stuck with me.”

“We’re not stuck, yet, Rush,” he replies, not falling for the jibe.

Rush looks displeased with the answer.

Young’s still curious as to why they’re in a simulation based off Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, though. He thinks its important. He knows he wants to get along with Rush, so for him, this makes sense; but for Rush, who supposedly hates his guts, it doesn’t. He’d tried to befriend Rush from the beginning, and even tried again despite the countless times Rush had stabbed him in the back. That wish hadn’t stopped the distrust from growing between them, though. It hadn’t quietened his anger. The wish had been an afterthought; something that he lay awake at night pondering. He had, since the very beginning, wondered why Rush was so averse to his friendship, and to his trust.

Now, he wonders if Rush’s aversion is as genuine as he’d had Young believe. He wonders what Rush would say; how he’d lie if he were to ask him about it. He aims for tactful when he turns to the man, and asks: “So, why the hell are we in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid?”

Rush shrugs, eyes on the horizon, boots kicking up red dirt, “It was the least obstructive way to remind me this was a simulation.”

Not quite an answer. “So you came up with it yourself?” He digs a little deeper, and hides his intentions with an added: “That didn’t stop you from forgetting it wasn’t real.”

“Yes, well…” Rush sighs, “I had thought Destiny would be more inviting than she's being.”

Young snorts, “Clearly. Why this movie, though?”

“Do you see any computers, Colonel?” Rush snaps. “Does this look like the kind of environment I would frequent?”

“Right.” It’s still not the answer he’s looking for.

There is no deeper meaning; no, underlying messages to be seen here, then? Rush's Sundance because that’s what his brain has supplied, and he's Butch because it makes sense within the parameters of the simulation? Sure, he’d let Rush think that if he wanted to. Young's no programmer; he can't pretend he knows how the simulation works but he's convinced that there’s more to it than that. Either, Destiny believes they can be friends, or they do, subconsciously or otherwise.

“Where to, then, Kid?”

He says it mostly to annoy Rush, and gets a livid glare in response.


	2. WANT

  
__**  
“So we descended out of Circle One  
To Circle Two: the less in measurement,  
The greater in its sad cries fit to stun  
The senses. Here, deciding who’ll be sent  
To which reception, the Selector looms”**

**— Dante’s The Divine Comedy, Canto V**   


    

There’s something odd about the image of Rush on horseback. He looks simultaneously awkward and right at home. On the one hand he’s always had a sort of western look to him; with his boots, scruffiness and long hair, but on the other he looks completely lost in the landscape. He continuously glances about, and seems on edge, like he’s itching for a fix. Young had always suspected Rush’s tendency to write on walls had been a little manic. If his current twitchiness isn’t evidence enough, his constant pocket-checks are - he’s presumably looking for his notebook.

They’ve been on horseback for almost an hour - or for what feels like an hour - when suddenly everything fades from sepia into colour. Young has to close his eyes against the shock of it, and he grips his head as a headache explodes behind his eyes.

“Shit!” he swears. “What the hell?”

Rush looks back at him, and he seems more interested by his distress, than confused with the change in their surroundings.

“That was _you_ ,” Young realises. “ _Shit,_ give a man warning.”

Rush shrugs, “We’re on the surface of Destiny’s programming. We’re the ones supplying the illusion. We can manipulate it at will, or at least I can.”

“And I can’t because?”

“Destiny doesn’t trust you, Colonel; not yet. That’s why what I just did, hurt you.” He sounds as if he’d expected as much, and yet his surprised reaction would say otherwise. “She’s given me some freedom but she won’t let us passed her base code until you’ve proven yourself.”

“I thought that’s what we were doing in the saloon?”

“It obviously wasn’t enough,” Rush answers, “or we wouldn’t still be in this god-awful heat.”

So they’re still living out the plot of this movie, then? In that case, he already knows where they’re headed to. He’s not quite sure what the coming scenario is going to prove to Destiny but she obviously seems to have something in mind.

 

* * *

 

Rush drops down from his horse as soon as they arrive, and glances around at the crew of Destiny; their own “Hole-in-the-Wall Gang”.

“Eli?” he asks, turning to the artificial representation of the young man.

“Oh, hi Rush,” Eli says. “Hey, Colonel. We’re just getting ready to rob the Union Pacific Flyer!”

Rush glances back at Young, giving the man a raised eyebrow.

Young waits for Rush to offer the simulation some kind of answer but he doesn’t. Young sighs, and clambers off his horse, not at all gracefully. He’d maybe gone riding once in his life, and he’d sucked at it just as much as he does now. 

Once he is safely on his own two feet he runs a hand through his hair and addresses Eli, trying to remember what Butch had said in the movie, “No, uh…I told you we _might_ rob it…um…” he winces, feeling ridiculous. “ _Shit,_ okay, I can’t do this. Destiny,” he looks about at the growing crowd of simulations, “we’re here to try to make repairs. To stop the virus. We just need you to let me in, and then Rush and I can fix this.”

“It’s not going to be that easy,” Rush mutters, kicking at the orange dirt.

Young turns to him, “Huh?”

Rush stoops to pick up a knife. He shows it to Young, “It appears Destiny has a very specific challenge in mind for you, Colonel. It’s obvious now.”

Young recognises the knife. He looks about but there is no Harvey-like character, which means…

“Physical strength doesn’t matter in here. Mental strength does.” Rush twirls the knife in his hand, “So, I’ll have the advantage.”

“What the hell are you on about?” Young demands.

Rush finally looks up and rolls his eyes, “She wants to know whose stronger.”

Young splutters, “What?” Rush has it all wrong. “I’m not fighting you.” _Not again. Not ever. Not after last time._

“You don’t have a choice, Colonel,” Rush replies. “This is Destiny’s test. She wants to know which one of us is most qualified to fix her.

“No, Destiny wants us to work together!” Young says. “We don’t stand a chance against a virus alone.”

“ _You_ don’t stand a chance,” Rush corrects. “But I do.”

Young shakes his head. He doesn’t know what’s going on but he knows Rush is wrong about this. “Rush, look around you, you’re Sundance and I’m Butch. Whether or not it was us or Destiny who came up with that, doesn’t that tell you something? ”

“Hardly,” Rush scoffs. “I don’t need your help, and Destiny seems to think so too.”

Young can't believe this, “Destiny’s messing with your head again…”

“On the contrary, I’ve never had such clarity of mind.”

Young runs a hand through his hair. Common sense hadn’t worked. Perhaps, a more diplomatic approach might. “Rush, just put the knife down,” he tries, calmly. “Let’s get me passed Destiny’s base programming and _then_ we can discuss whether or not we split up?” 

Wray steps forward, “Afraid Rush will succeed without you, Colonel?”

She’s smirking at him. He’s never seen her look so cold. Of course, it isn’t her, though, is it?

Young’s frustration gets the better of him. “No!” he snaps, wondering if this is Destiny’s test; if the test is whether he’ll fight Rush or not. He doesn’t know what result she wants but he _won’t_ fight Rush. “You want us both in here, don’t you?” he asks not-Wray. “You want us working together? ” he turns to Rush, “If I leave now you won’t succeed by yourself. You know that! You both know that!” He’s shaking, and he can’t tell if it’s in rage or desperation. This isn’t about him and Rush, dammit! They’re here for the crew. Why does Rush always have to make everything so personal?

“Guns or knives, Colonel?”

“Rush…”

“You know how this goes; Guns or knives?” 

A heavy presence appears in Young’s hand and he looks down to see a knife there. He meets Rush’s eyes and shakes his head, dropping the knife and gritting his teeth. “I’m not fighting you, Rush!”

“Then don’t fight,” Rush answers, before lunging at him.

 

* * *

 

“Holy hell their vitals are going crazy!” Eli exclaims.

Tamara runs to meet him at the the monitor.

“Are they okay?” he asks, concerned.

“I think so,” she says, not-altogether-sure. “These levels are normal if, say, they were running.”

“But they’re lying down!” Eli waves a hand at them, as if it weren’t already obvious. “Shouldn’t that be dangerous?”

Tamara nods, looking grim, “It could be incredibly taxing on their bodies but I have no way of telling what it will _actually_ do to them.”

“TJ?” Chloe’s gasp draws both of them away from the monitors in a flash. She points to Young’s face, where his cheek is split, “He just started bleeding!”

Tamara presses her fingers to the puckered skin around the cut, and observes it with a swiftly growing trepidation, “This is bad. It’s pretty deep.” She stands and gives Eli a stern look, “What’s going on?”

Eli swallows, eyes wide, “I- well…We didn’t think this could actually happen? Rush and I…well…he mostly, hypothesised, that the chair had some healing properties due to - you know, the bolts - and we thought- Rush thought, that the chair could be reprogrammed to heal more than just the bolt burns.”

“It doesn’t heal the bolt burns,” Chloe points out.

“Uh, right, yeah,” Eli waves a hand, “That’s because we couldn’t find the program in the first place. But…”

“Eli, get to the point!” Tamara snaps.

Eli grimaces, “Hypothetically, if the chair could heal someone it could also, probably, do the opposite…it could inflict physical damage…more than just bolt burns…hypothetically.”

 

* * *

 

Young rubs the blood from his cheek, and steps out of the way of another one of Rush’s lunges, “Stop this! I don’t want to hurt you!” He grabs Rush’s arm, and intends to throw him to the floor, but instead is flung off his feet as Rush turns back on him.

He gasps, the wind knocked out of him. He barely has a moment to breathe before Rush spins him onto his stomach and pins him to the ground, trapping his hands underneath him.

“This place, this simulation,” Rush explains, as Young tries, with all his might to shove him off, “it draws on our mental energy. Here, brain beats brawn.” 

Young tries to roll over, tries to push back but he just doesn’t seem to have the energy…or rather, the strength. His eyes are wet with frustration and he’s grunting with the exertion.

“You can’t hurt me, here,” Rush snarls against his ear.

Young realises with a jolt that he was wrong about Rush. He’d thought he could befriend this man. He’d thought he could trust him.

Rush presses the knife to his throat and he closes his eyes.

How wrong he’d been.

Then, there is a deafening _BANG_ , and the pressure on his back is gone and so is the knife. Young sits up, startled, and sees Rush lying on the ground, spluttering. His shoulder is oozing blood, and his cold, calculating glare is staring over Young’s shoulder.

Young turns, and collapses back on his ass. There’s another Rush. He’s standing above them, with a gun aimed at his counterpart, and Young realises that he’d been fighting a simulation. When he glances back at the simulated Rush, he’s gone. He lets out a shaky breath, and feels an overwhelming wave of relief that not only had he survived but that he hadn't been wrong about Rush.

Rush holds out a hand, and Young takes it, gratefully. Once he’s been hauled to his feet, he doesn’t know what to say. He wants to ask Rush what happened, but he guesses gratitude is in order, first. “Thanks,” he says, breathlessly.

But when he properly looks at Rush, he sees that the mathematician's jaw is clenched, and he’s wincing. Only then does Young notice the bullet hole in Rush’s jacket, sitting right in the same place as his counterpart’s wound. It begins to fill and then overflow with blood and Rush doubles over, crying out in pain.

“What the fuck?” Young rushes forward to observe the wound.

“I was wrong.”

“What?” Young glances up.

“She was t-testing _me_ ,” Rush manages through gritted teeth, “not you.” He groans, “The first test…was to see if someone would…would join me. The second test, was to see if I would help that person back.”

“She counted on me saving you?”

“She counted on _someone_ joining me,” Rush corrects, stubbornly.

“So, what the hell was this test? You had to save me from yourself?”

Rush rolls his eyes, “She’s not that metaphorical.”

“What about the sepia to colour? That wasn’t you?”

“As I said, she was testing me. She had to make it look convincing.” Rush shakes his head, “That’s why I couldn’t do more than that. That’s why I couldn’t get us out of this damn simulation.”

“But you can now?”

“Not like this…” he grunts.

“Come on, let’s get you back on the horse.” Young grimaces, “That must be killing you.”

“It likely is,” Rush says, all-too-calmly, as they walk.

“What?” Young demands.

Rush bats Young’s offered hand out of the way and hooks a foot into his horse’s stirrup, grabbing a hold of the reigns and pulling himself up, one-handed, with a grunt. 

“What do you mean it likely is?” Young asks again.

“Get on your horse, Colonel,” Rush says instead.

Young only lets it go because Rush is pale, and there’s sweat beginning to bead across his forehead. He turns, and climbs atop his own horse.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, what now?” Young asks, once they’re back in town and Rush is laying out on a bed of some motel room.

“You leave me be,” Rush answers.

“What the hell do you mean, I leave you be?” Young demands. “You said yourself, you could die.”

Rush winces at the tone. He has a bad headache and it’s getting worse. If only he could just think clearly. “I just need to…rest.”

“I know what kind of rest you’re thinking of taking and that’s the kind that’s dangerous.” 

Young shakes him abruptly, and Rush grunts in pain, eyes widening. “Stop it!” he growls, trying to push Young away. He doesn’t manage to raise his hand more than an inch, and it falls limply, uselessly, to the bed.

“Come on, Rush, you obviously know how to fix this so tell me. What do we have to do?”  

He closes his eyes, and sighs, “ _We_ do nothing. _I_ manipulate the simulation and heal the wound.”

The grimace is obvious in Young’s voice when he says, “Good luck with that.” 

His eyes snap open and he glares at Young.

But the Colonel is frowning in thought, “Why can’t I do it?”

He closes his eyes again, sighing in frustration. “Because, _Colonel,_ mental strength is all that matters here, and _you_ don’t have what it takes…to do something like this.”

There is so much venom and condescension in his tone that he thinks Young might finally leave him alone - hopes that he will. But when he opens his eyes he’s still sitting their by his side, glaring at him, unamused.

“Why don’t I just try?” Young says, eventually.

Rush sighs, “Fine.”

“What do I have to do?”

Rush rolls his eyes, “How the bloody hell would I know?”

“You’ve been in simulations before?”

“I’ve never tried this in simulations before.”

“Fine,” Young breathes out slowly, “how hard can it be.”

“Unbelievably.”

Young doesn’t answer him, and instead closes his eyes and raises his hands. It would almost be comical if Rush wasn’t in so much pain. He knows a bullet to the shoulder shouldn’t hurt as much as this, and he also knows that the pain in his head isn’t a migraine. He watches Young’s face crease in frustration and effort.

“I did this before,” Young grunts, “I just have to remember…”

Rush frowns, “What do you mean you-”

Then everything shatters apart and Rush feels as if he’s falling and the pain in his shoulder and head is gone but everything about him is gone too. He’s non-existent. No, he’s…he’s…

He’s ones and zeroes.

 

* * *

 

“Rush?”

He’s being shaken awake and when he looks up, Young is standing over him.

“I did it,” he says, in a smug _‘I told you so’_ kind of way.

Rush sits up, and doesn’t need to shrug his jacket off to see that the wound is gone. Not only is the wound healed, but so is the hole in his jacket.

“Even managed to heal my cheek,” Young adds.

“How the bloody hell did you manage that?” he says more to himself, than to Young.

Young shrugs, “When I first got here, I kinda, I don’t really know…I sort of focused on the fact everything was a simulation and it broke apart. When I did it this time, everything sorta became…easy to manipulate.”

Rush turns to him, and even though he wants to say _‘you shouldn’t have been able to do that’_ he doesn’t. He wants to say more. But he doesn’t. There’s no point in telling Young something he only half-suspects to be true.

“So, now that you’re fine are you going to tell me what the hell happened back there?” Young asks, when Rush makes no indication he’s going to answer Young’s explanation.

“Destiny wanted to test us; she has to. It’s part of her programming…part of her survival instinct, you could say. She trusted me less, and so my test was harder to pass.”

“In the card game she kept claiming you were cheating?” Young frowns, “I thought that was just the simulation following the script of the movie?”

“As did I,” Rush sighs, “until she put _you _in a simulation only _I_ could get you out of. She thinks I cheated to get us aboard the ship,” he rolls his eyes. “As if you could cheat on something like solving the Ninth Chevron.” __

He hadn’t solved it, though. Eli had. The cheating, Destiny referred to, was him having dialled the Ninth Chevron. It should have been Eli. It should have been a more-suited team. It should have been planned. _Like_ he’d had a choice. The Lucian Alliance had started their attack; the planet was going to go up in a blaze. They were alive because of _his_ quick thinking. Destiny could think he cheated all she liked. They were alive because of him.

“She doesn’t think I’m quite _worthy_ enough for this mission,” he continues.

“So, she had you shoot yourself?”

Rush rolls his eyes, “It wasn’t me.”

Young frowns. “But it was,” he says, gesturing to the bed-sheet, still stained with his blood.

Rush doesn’t answer, and instead stands to look out of the window and at the street beyond. It’s night. It's quiet. He vaguely notices when Young gets up and leaves the room. He tells himself he'll give it a moment, before going and finding the Colonel. They should start working on Destiny soon, and return her programming back into the hands of her crew. 

He rubs absently at his shoulder, where there was once a wound and sighs.

 

* * *

 

When Destiny appears to them she is wearing Gloria’s face.

“It’s good to see you again, Nick,” she smiles, too brightly.

“Yes, well,” he doesn’t meet her eyes, “you didn’t make it easy.”

“That was the virus’ doing.”

Rush scoffs, and answers, sarcastically: “I’m sure it was.”

“You succeeded in getting this far,” she points out.

Young coughs and Rush watches as Destiny turns to look at him. He feels an unbridled wave of jealousy when Gloria’s voice tells Young she’s honoured to meet him. Rush has to swallow back the guilt and the unease. Young’s hesitancy to return the greeting does nothing to settle his nerves in the moment.

“That’s enough niceties!” he snaps. “We passed your tests. Now, let us in.”

She turns back to him, with a frown, “You are in.”

He tries not to let his surprise show. “Where’s the database?”

She looks almost disappointed. As if she didn’t already know that was the first thing he’d save. She gives him a nod, and holds out her hand. A cube appears in it after a moment. The representation is simple and practical. He makes a grab for it.

She pulls it away at the last minute, “Not yet.”

“What?” he demands. “If you want the crew to survive we _need_ the database.”

She smirks at him, mirroring an expression he knows he’s given her all too often. “If _I_ want to survive you need to save my program.”

He grits his teeth.

“Uh,” Young intervenes, stepping between them, “why don’t we make a deal? We’ll save your program, and you give us the database?”

She smiles at Young, “Deal. The virus doesn’t know I’m still tethered to the ship but it knows where to find me. You don’t have long.”

She disappears.

“That’s just fucking fantastic,” Rush growls.

“I thought we were in here trying to save Destiny’s program?” Young demands. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Rush rolls his eyes. “We’re here to fix Destiny’s computer. The AI program is only one component of that. There’s the database, the life support, weapons, sensors, engine etcetera.”

“Why the database?” Young asks, carefully, “Don’t we need life support more?”

“Suppose we only get one go at this. Would you rather the crew had any and all information that could help them survive on an alien planet? Or would you rather we worked on trying to fix life support? 

Young studies him for a moment, and then gives a nod, “Okay.”

Rush shakes his head and turns away.

 

* * *

 

It doesn't take them long to find out where the AI’s program is hidden. Both of them can feel the pull of it, and are quickly drawn further into town.

Young sighs when he sees the place. “A bank?” he gives Rush an exasperated look. “We’re robbing a bank?”

Rush shrugs, and replies with a smirk, “We're Butch and Sundance remember?”

“So, if the simulation changes…?”

"Then the representation of everything changes,” Rush replies. “It won't always be a bank.”

“So, how do we do this, then?”

Rush pulls the gun out from his holster and flicks the safety off before hiding it in the sleeve of his jacket. He gives the Colonel a raised eyebrow, and Young sighs before doing the same.

"None of it is real,” Rush reminds him.

It doesn’t stop the Colonel from feeling uneasy about it, though. He follows behind Rush as they make their way into the bank. Rush is quicker than him to draw his gun.

“Open up the vault and no one gets hurt!”

The man behind the counter stammers, “S-Sir, if you want money-”

“Vault, _now,_ ” Rush snaps.

Young watches Rush. He's not exactly surprised by how easy he adopts the persona of the Wild West outlaw. He’s always had an uncanny ability to adapt to a situation. But this feels different. It seems altogether too familiar and easy for Rush, as if he's done it before. He is looking more and more at home in Sundance’s shoes.

“Look through the paperwork for some kinda map,” Rush tells him, as he waves his gun at the poor banker.

Young frowns, “A map?”

“Of Destiny’s systems,” Rush clarifies. “I’ll get the program.”

Young begins flitting through paperwork as Rush disappears into the back with the banker. He has no idea what he’s looking for, though.

 

* * *

 

As soon as the vault is open Rush knocks the banker out with the butt of his gun.

“Did you have to do that?”

Rush looks up to find Young frowning at him. “He’s only a program,” he says. “Did you find the map?”

Young shakes his head.

“Keep looking.” Rush reaches into the vault to take the database. The cube is smaller than the one Destiny held. “I’ll get the program back to Destiny and deal with her.”

Young nods and goes back to looking for the map.

Rush slips out of the bank and starts heading back to the saloon. He pockets the cube with a smirk and thinks that the whole thing had been too easy. He doesn't really need a map but hopefully it'll keep Young busy enough for the time being.

 

* * *

 

He meets the AI outside the saloon.

“My program?” she asks, hastily.

He holds up the small cube and shows it to her.

She breathes a sigh of relief before holding the database out for him to take, “As promised.”

“Thank you,” he takes the larger cube from her carefully.

“Now, give it to me.”

“Why couldn’t you get it yourself?” he asks, instead of handing her the program.

“Because the virus is looking for me,” she answers. “Now, give it to me.”

“If I give this to you and the virus catches you, you will be useless to us.”

“ _Nick,_ ” she warns.

“That is, unless it’s already got to you,” he frowns, before pressing his fingers to parts of the smaller cube and opening it up. It takes him a moment to sort through its data before he finds it. As he’d suspected the data is warped and distorted in places. “It _has_ already got to you…”

“Nick, give it to me.”

“You’re terrified,” he answers, in understanding, closing the cube with a snap. “You think you can fix yourself but if you take this now you will only allow the virus to spread more quickly. Other aspects of the computer will be tainted and I can't allow that."

“It's going to _kill_ me.”

“Better you than us.”

"Or better me than her?” Destiny snaps, barring her teeth. “I knew you were going to have to choose between us but I didn't think you'd choose her. You’ve disappointed me. I thought the mission meant more to you.” She shakes her head, “Don’t you want to see it completed?”

“Of course I do,” he snaps. “That's why I'm here, now, fixing _your_ bloody programming.” But he’s had enough. He turns and begins to walk away.

“You can’t have both of us,” Destiny yells after him.

“Watch me.”

 

* * *

 

Eli sits slumped in his chair, leaning over the monitor with a stillness that could be construed as boredom. He’s not bored. He’s so wound up he doesn’t even know what to do with himself. So he sits and watches as the virus eats into Destiny’s data. It’s always the same. The last three days have been still and quiet and he can’t help wondering why Destiny is going so gently into the good night. Why isn’t she fighting back? 

He thinks she might have already given up. He growls and smacks a hand to the monitor in frustration.

_Beep_

“What?” Eli exclaims as numbers start to appear across the screen. 

_01000101 01101100 01101001_

“No, no, no, no! I didn’t do anything!”

“Huh?” Chloe looks up from where she’d been dozing.

“I-” Eli pauses, and stares.

_01001001 00100000 01101110 01100101 01100101 01100100 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01101000 01100101 01101100 01110000_

“Oh my God,” Eli whispers.

Chloe frowns, and steps forward to peer over his shoulder.

_01001110 01100101 01100101 01100100 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100100 01101111 01110111 01101110 01101100 01101111 01100001 01100100 00100000 01100100 01100001 01110100 01100001 01100010 01100001 01110011 01100101_

“Oh my god,” Chloe agrees.

Eli pulls out his radio, “Eli to TJ. We got a message from Rush.”

 

* * *

 

Young isn’t back yet, and Rush is still waiting for Eli’s reply. He tells himself that his actions are purely practical. He opens the database, watches numbers cascade outward and form a figure, one that is blurry at first but then solidifies and sharpens. She smiles at him.

“Hello Nick.”

“Mandy,” he answers, sadly. “I’m-”

She steps forward in a moment and cups his cheek, “It’s alright.”

He closes his eyes and leans into her touch for a moment before remembering himself, “Do you know what’s happening?”

Mandy tilts her head, “Destiny is under attack from a virus.”

He nods.

“You’re going to download the database.”

He looks away and gives another nod.

“You need me to help Eli.”

“I- I wouldn’t ask this…not after…But we have no choice.”

She smiles at him, and readjusts a loose strand of his hair behind his ear. “I know, Nick.”

He wants to say more but he can’t promise her anything. He can’t bear to say: _“I won’t let the virus get to you.”_ Because what if it did? What if it used her face to attack him. He knows he wouldn’t move a muscle. He knows he’d let her destroy him.

“Are you going to release Ginn too?” she asks.

Rush shakes his head. “She’ll just distract Eli,” he says. “When this is all over I’ll free her but for now I need Eli to focus.”

Mandy nods, in understanding.

“You will be safer out there,” he tells her, “not as noticeable.”

“It will still find me, eventually, Nick.”

“I know.”

“I know you’ll do what you can,” she says.

He doesn’t know how to reply to that.

 

* * *

 

“What’s he saying?” Tamara asks.

Eli is practically bouncing on the spot, “They’ve managed to find the database. He wants us to download it.”

Wray looks skeptical, “Isn’t that risky?”

“Not to mention difficult?” Tamara looks just as unsure. “Would any of the laptops we brought be able to support that kind of system?”

Eli shakes his head, “No, not really. But Rush says he’s released Dr Amanda Perry from the database and she’ll help us figure it out.”

“Hello Eli.”

Eli almost jumps out of his skin when Dr Perry appears next to him, “Fracking hell!”

He’s still struggling to catch his breath when she continues to speak.

“Sorry,” she smiles. “I thought we might be able to disconnect several computers from the network, wipe them and then download a compressed version of the database.”

He gives a nod, “Yeah, that could work.”

“Okay, then get to it,” Tamara says.

“I’ll need to see a schematic of Destiny’s network.”

“Already on it!” Chloe exclaims from where she’s tapping away at a monitor.

Eli’s grinning, and he can’t help himself. He pats the monitor he’s standing at, and thinks that maybe they can do this, after all. Maybe they can save Destiny before it’s too late.

 

* * *

 

When Young returns he has a large rolled up map under his arm. He hadn’t realised how difficult it would be to find one. Why did a computer simulation have so much goddamn useless paperwork? It wasn’t like it was important to the simulation’s authenticity? 

“I got it,” he says, when he sees Rush.

The mathematician looks wary, and distracted. He’s working on a hand-held monitor that looks similiar to one you might find on Destiny.

He nods, “Good. I’ve contacted Eli. He and Dr Perry are working on downloading the database, now.”

Young raises an eyebrow. “Dr Perry?” he asks, handing the map over. “So, that’s why you wanted the database, huh?” He isn’t at all surprised. “Or at the very least it was an added bonus.”

“Aye,” Rush answers, without looking up.

Young shakes his head, and knows Rush sees it. He doesn’t respond, and simply watches as Rush unrolls the map and starts to look over it. Young doesn’t know what any of it means but in the top right corner it is helpfully labeled “Destiny schematics”. He wonders if that’s luck or Destiny trying to give his military “grunt” of a brain a helping hand.

 

* * *

 

“While Eli is downloading the database we should learn how to manipulate the simulation,” Rush says when the weighted silence becomes too much for him.

Young looks up, “I managed that before…”

Rush shakes his head, “We won’t be doing it like that.”

“Why not?”

“You almost killed yourself, Colonel, Rush says. It’s not exactly a lie; more a half-truth. “You opened your mind up to Destiny’s raw data. Be happy you’re still alive.”

Young looks a little uneasy at that revelation. “Any ideas, then?” he asks.

“Theoretically, I know how it should work,” Rush begins, “but…”

“But, translation: you have no idea.”

Rush grits his teeth, and spits out: “ _Memories._ We have to visualise a memory and enter a representation of it. Then we manipulate it.”

“Theoretically?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“Okay, go ahead then,” Young offers, waving a hand.

Rush hesitates for a moment before turning away from Young and closing his eyes. He tries to think of something safe. Of course, if Destiny were there it would be easier. Without her he’s not sure they can do this.

“Woah,” Young gasps.

Rush opens his eyes and for a moment thinks he’s seeing in monochrome until a vase of yellow calla lilies catches his eye. He knows which memory they’re in as soon as he sees them.

“Think of something else,” Rush breathes; the smell of disinfectant is suffocating.

“What?”

A curtain blocks his view of the hospital bed but he knows whose lying in it. He knows whose waiting.

“Close your eyes. Think of something. Just…think of something else!” Rush snaps.

Young hesitates for only a moment, before shutting his eyes tight.

The last thing Rush hears before the image dissolves is a tired, hopeful, _“Nicholas?”_

Then suddenly they’re in a different room. Everything still smells of disinfectant. Rush can’t tell if it’s his memory or Young’s. He looks about, quickly, taking in all that he can. But he doesn’t recognise the scene. There’s a boy sitting on the bed in front of them, and his foot is in a cast. He’s about twelve years old, Rush thinks. 

“Hello?” the boy asks.

“That’s…” Young starts, and his confused expression is a mirror image of the boy’s.

Then, the scene changes again, and they’re suddenly on a sports field during a game. The air is too warm to be Glasgow, and Rush doesn’t recognise the uniforms. The boy from the hospital…Young, is playing out on the field. He’s so much shorter than the other players. He gets shoved out of the way, and pushed to the ground, and Rush can hear someone yelling from the sidelines.

“Get up, you _useless_ idiot! Get up!”

Rush turns to Young to see him staring, gaze fixed on the image in front him him. “Young?” Rush tries. “That’s enough.”

When Young doesn’t react, Rush tries again, this time yelling his name. But the Colonel is completely unresponsive, and there’s a building white-noise in the back of Rush’s head. Rush lays a hand on his shoulder and shakes Young, even as the noise builds. It’s then, that Rush realises his suspicions were correct. When Young had exposed his mind to Destiny’s data he had dome some damage.

_Useless._

_Too short._

_Can’t do anything right._

_Can’t do this._

_Can’t make them proud._

_Will never make them proud._

“Snap out of it!” Rush yells.

_Might as well not try._

_Why am I trying?_

_Never going to succeed._

_Never going to make them proud._

_I’m useless._

_Can’t do anything right-_

Rush grits his teeth, and pulls on the simulation with all his might, and suddenly rain is whipping up in their faces. There’s a harsh wind and it’s freezing, but Rush can see himself out on the field. He’s a lot shorter than all the other players. They’ve got brawn. He’d had brains. So, it shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. He watches himself slip and slide in the mud. He’s fast, and in this game it’s his only advantage. But he’s never going to play seriously. He was never good enough. As expected he doesn’t make the team.

_It doesn’t matter._ Except it does.

Someone asks if he’s ever tried track. He hasn’t.

He tries it, and he’s never loved anything so much in his life. He feels like he can finally breathe; like he’s been drowning all this time. But not anymore. When he’s running he feels free. His mind is gloriously quiet. All he hears is his breathing and his heart-beat in his ears. He knows, or thinks he knows, that there won’t ever be anything he’ll want to do more than this. He wins gold. He wins it again. He doesn’t care about the cheers. He keeps running, and running, and running, and everything blurs around him, and he leaves it all behind. But still, he knows he can go faster.

_You can do it._

_Come on, just a bit more._

_Don’t stop, not yet. Keep going._

_Yes. Keep going._

“Enough!”

They’re standing in a dark room, and the orange dirt on the floor and stale smell in the air tells Rush they’re back in the original simulation. Young is staring at him.

“That was…”

Rush takes a shuddering breath.

They stand like that in silence for longer than either of them could say.

“You did…track,” Young says, after a while.

It’s such a ridiculous comment Rush laughs harshly, “Aye, not that it’s _any_ of your business.” He knows the bite in his tone is unwarranted but he’s too shaken to care.

“You seemed…” Young tries again, “like you enjoyed it.”

“We are _not_ discussing this,” Rush snaps. “Not, unless, you would like to discuss _your_ memory? And your deep-set anxieties about being inadequate?”

Young’s face immediately grows cold.

Rush knows it’s a low blow. Young hadn’t mentioned Rush’s first memory, and when he’d demanded Young come up with one of his own to replace it, he had; simply, because he’d asked. He sighs, and turns toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Young growls, and the tone of voice is all too familiar to Rush.

“Don’t worry, I’m not leaving the building,” he answers with a huff. “Just getting a drink.”

 

* * *

 

When Rush returns, Young is sitting out on the balcony. He doesn’t expect Rush to join him, but when he does - and plants a drink in front of him - he’s not upset.

Young guesses that, coming from Rush, the offered drink is as good as an apology. “You’re a lot of work,” he mutters into his glass.

Rush doesn’t reply, whether or not he hears him.

Young had heard stories about Rush’s wife. He’d heard she had been sick. He doesn’t know when she died but he knows, from the gossip on Icarus Base, that Rush was never the same afterwards. It’s why, when Young had heard the desperation in Rush’s voice, it had been easy to give into his own memories. It’s why he forgives Rush quickly, this time, because he knows the mathematician was more scared than angry.

They sit in silence, watching people wander back and forth below. Young recognises the scene from the movie. It’s the scene in which Butch and Sundance exchange their names, their real names, for the very first time. It was a turning point for them. Young feels as if he needs to impart some great secret onto Rush in that moment, to show that he accepts his apology and wants to trust him. He doesn’t of course. Instead he settles on something a little less great and a little less secret.

“Dad wanted me to be an NFL player. That or NHL…”

Young sees Rush freeze mid-sip, to listen.

He laughs at his own story like it’s a joke. _It is._ “That or to join the military,” he continues. “I was never good at much else. Dad got his wish after all, though, I guess.”

A moment passes and once Rush has finished his glass of whiskey he stands and leaves. Young isn’t sure if what he did was the right thing or not but he hopes Rush understands the sentiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this took a little longer than expected but I was having a little trouble with sections of it. Hope you enjoyed the update!
> 
> I changed a few things in the first chapter but nothing too noticeble, just a few spelling mistakes and I added a quote (that I forgot to put in whoops).


	3. GLUTTONY

  
__**  
“When Cerberus the hulking worm got wind  
That he was not alone—he never is,  
In view of how he’s made—he turned and grinned.”**

**— Dante’s The Divine Comedy, Canto VI**   


    

    

Everyone is exhausted. Tamara can see it in their faces. They’re scared, and miserable and they all need a break. Unfortunately, they don’t have time. They need to fix Destiny.

“We’ve finished downloading the database,” Brody explains, “so we started looking at habitable planets, but…”

“So far no luck,” Volker adds.

“Are we really considering abandoning Destiny?” Wray asks. “Isn’t it a little too soon for that?”

“It's a precaution,” Eli replies, “incase things go wrong. That’s why they gave us the database first.”

“Yeah, but even if we find a planet we don’t have engines or navigation,” Volker shrugs. “Destiny’s drifting.”

“We need life support before that,” Park adds. “We don’t have long before that’s going to become a problem too.”

“But we have the shuttle. If it comes to it we can send a group of people to a planet.”

“So we’ll have to pick who lives and who dies,” Wray looks ill at the thought, “again?”

Tamara doesn’t blame her. She’s been thinking the exact same thing. It doesn’t feel too long ago that they had to deal with a similiar situation. She doesn’t know how Young did it.

“It’s a precaution,” Tamara repeats. She looks to the science team, then, “Keep looking for viable planets and devise ways we can get to them, and survive them.”

Everyone looks grave as they nod, and she feels sick to the stomach. She can barely handle looking after Rush and Young, let alone the crew. She can’t keep thinking about the future of the crew whilst trying to hold onto what they’ve already got - the ship and it’s commanding officer and lead scientist. There’s still a hope they’ll succeed, sure, and she understands the need to plan for the worst but…

Before the room empties completely Tamara looks up, “Scott, could you remain a moment.”

He pauses, and gives a nod before stepping over to ~~her~~ Young’s desk. “Yes?”

“Lieutenant,” she begins, emulating the formality Young used in such situations, “considering the fact I am both the leading physician _and_ acting commander of this ship I feel it is appropriate if you have a say in my command decisions.”

“You think we should share command?” Scott asks unsurely.

Tamara nods, “When the situation is appropriate I’m asking you to make command decisions, yes.”

“Yes, m’am,” Scott replies.

She gives him a smile, which he returns, and she feels the weight on her shoulders lighten a little, “Thank you.”

He leaves and she’s just clearing the desk, and taking a moment to clear her head when there’s a knock at the door. She turns to find Wray waiting for her.

“Yes?”

Wray gives her an apologetic smile, before entering, “Someone should use the communication stones to let Homeworld Command know what’s happening.”

Tamara lets out a long sigh. With everything going on she’d forgotten what their main worry had been. She wonders if the numbness she feels in that moment is a sign she’s compromised. They didn’t even know yet if three or a hundred years had passed and she just couldn’t find it in herself to care. 

“Are the crew getting restless?” She asks, worried that she’d been neglecting them.

“A little,” Wray admits, “but it’s only natural for them to worry. But I’ve been thinking, with the Colonel and Rush out and with everything that’s been going wrong it might help crew morale to start allocating time with the communication stones.”

Tamara purposefully doesn’t say _‘it will only help crew morale if it really has only been three years.’_ “Okay, once you’ve touched base with Homeworld Command you’re welcome to start letting people use the stones.”

Wray nods.

“Don’t send anyone whose essential to the ship right now.”

“Thank you,” she says with a smile, resting a hand on Tamara’s shoulder for a moment, before turning to leave.

“Camile,” Tamara stops her. She waits for Wray to turn back before she continues. “Let me know how long it’s been before you start allocating people to the stones.”

Wray’s smile drops and she gives a solemn nod, before leaving out the door in a rush.

Tamara hopes to whatever God there is that it’s only been three years; for the crew, if not for herself. She has enough on her plate.

    

* * *

    

When Rush receives Eli's answer he feels no sense of relief. Eli sounds excited in his reply, congratulating them for getting this far when they’ve barely done anything yet. Rush types a response only so Eli knows that he’s seen the message, and then shuts down the sub-program to focus on his surroundings.

His unease concerning the Butch and Sundance simulation has only increased. He knows Young is using it to his own advantage. The fact he keeps following the script of the movie is evidence enough to that. Except, sitting with the Colonel and sharing a heart-to-heart really wasn’t what he’d had in mind when he decided on fixing Destiny’s computer. He hates that he’s looking for Destiny’s AI, just as Sundance had looked for Etta Place. He feels like he’s following a script; a script he wants no part in.

He tries not to consider whether the choice of simulation was his idea or Destiny’s.

It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. He just knows he has to find the AI.

She finds him in the end. “Hello, Nicholas.”

“Why didn’t you trust me enough to be in here alone?” he demands.

“What makes you think I had a choice?” she asks, innocently - _always_ innocently.

He hates how much he distrusts Gloria’s voice now. “ _Don’t_ give me that.”

“The Interface Chair was made by Ancients _for_ Ancient minds, Nicholas,” Destiny answers, “It stands to reason, then, that if a human mind attempts to fix my code from within my programming, they would be overwhelmed; that they would need help.”

He decides not to push it, and instead growls, “You could have warned me!”

“Would you really have wished to do this alone?”

He lets out an exasperated sigh.

After a moment she bites her lip, and it’s the second time he’s seen her emulate a human emotion. _Uncertainty._ He knows it’s calculated. 

“You aren’t even going to try to download me, are you?”

“The virus already got to you,” Rush says simply. “If we did. You’d just infect the rest of the data.”

“You’re not even going to consider it?” she sounds close to tears.

He knows it isn’t real. “No.”

“You didn’t try for her, either.”

He lets out an appalled laugh, and turns his sharpest glare on her. “We both already know there’s nothing you can come up with that I haven’t already told myself.”

In barely a moment she stops sniffling and her sad expression smoothes out into indifference. “It’s going to use me against you.”

“I know.”

“The simulation’s safety measures are off.”

He’d noticed. He rubs at his shoulder, and wonders how bad their real bodies must look already.

She nods and then her worried expression is back. “You will need Young before the end,” she says, solemnly. “You will need to both properly learn how to manipulate the simulation, and to work together to do so.” 

He grunts, noncommittally.

“You have to trust him,” she insists. “You _won’t_ succeed without him, Nicholas.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“We will.”

    

* * *

    

He doesn’t want to deal with Young again so soon, and so he goes looking for fractured code. It’s not difficult to find the pieces. They look like lightbulbs twinkling in a vast open darkness. They sing to him, draw him close and he gathers each bit he finds and fixes them before placing them back. It’s a short-term fix. The virus can just as easily tear them apart but there’s nothing else he can do. He can’t find any of the major programs, the ones that really matter, and they’re running out of time. He knows if they don't find the life support program soon the crew, including them, are as good as dead. Eventually, he decides to head back and renew his search with the map Young had found but when Rush returns it’s to find the scenery drastically changed. 

There is no saloon or red desert. Instead there is a suburb, and cooler weather and he instantly knows something is wrong. There’s no way Young could have created the simulation by himself, not without ripping himself to pieces. With a sinking feeling he slowly walks towards the house across the road. He doesn’t recognise it but when he thinks of Young he is drawn to it.

He knocks on the door and hears a familiar voice yell, “Coming!” Before the door opens to reveal Young, dressed in civilian clothing. “Yes?” His expression is blank.

Rush realises then, that he doesn’t recognise him. He grits his teeth. Of course Young would get stuck in some sort of memory or simulation right when they were actually pressed for time.

“Colonel Young,” Rush says, hesitantly.

The man laughs, “Colonel? Haven’t been called that in a while. Are you with the Air Force?”

“Aye,” Rush answers, “I need you to come with me.” Perhaps, if he gets Young alone he can sort this mess out; work out why his brain gave into a new simulation so easily.

“Do you have ID?” Young asks.

Rush takes a moment to create the bit of code before he procures a fake card and hands it to Young. The man studies it for a moment before nodding, and when he looks up at Rush there is still no recognition in his gaze.

“Dr Rush, huh?” he smiles. “I’m happy to discuss whatever it is you’ve come here for but it’ll have to wait. My wife and I are going out to see a movie in about ten minutes. If you give me your number I can call you tonight?”

Rush grimaces, “It’s urgent.”

He is tempted to knock the man out right then and there and drag him away but at that moment his wife appears at his side.

“Emily, this is Dr Rush, he’s from the Air Force,” Young introduces him.

She gives him a tight-lipped smile before leaning into Young, “We should get going. I’ll wait for you in the car, okay?” She steps passed Rush and avoids meeting his eyes.

“It is _rather_ urgent,” Rush repeats, this time through gritted teeth.

Young notices the strained voice, and his expression immediately grows dark. “I don’t care how urgent it is,” he replies. “I’m no longer with the Air Force.” He slams the door behind himself and pushes passed Rush, heading for his car.

“Well, that's just _bloody_ fantastic,” Rush hisses under his breath. 

    

* * *

    

Rush ends up having to wait in Young’s garden, just out of sight. He spends the time slowly unearthing a large rock from the garden bed, and running calculations through his head. The couple eventually get home but Rush knows he can’t do anything until Young is alone so he waits. He wonders if he's going to have to wait until morning, until, thankfully, Young steps out of the house, to take out the trash. 

Rush picks the rock up and steps quietly towards Young, before smacking him over the head, and catching him as he falls.  
 “Sorry, ‘bout that, Colonel,” he mutters as he drags him into his own backyard, and toward the shed. “Had to be done,” he grunts with the effort.

While, the Colonel’s unconscious it’s easier to flit through his mind, and find the problem, and what a _huge_ fucking problem it is. It is just as he suspected. Young’s mind had been a lot weaker than his own already but when he’d exposed it to Destiny’s raw data he’d become even more vulnerable. Rush could still feel the tear in his own mind after Young’s attempt at “healing” him. _Fuck._ Young’s mind is a mess of error messages and collapsed data and shattered memory. He already knows as soon as he sees it that it is the result of Young’s two unguarded attempts at manipulating Destiny’s code. His mind had thought he was a part of the program and without Rush by his side he’d quickly succumbed to the surrounding simulation. He shouldn’t have left Young alone. He should have known something like this would happen. The worst part is that he can’t fix it, not like this. He needs someone better skilled at unraveling and sorting through delicate data like this.

He sighs. “It’s a good thing I don't actually want you dead, Colonel,” he growls, before manifesting a hand-held monitor and starting up a sub-program.

    

* * *

    

Tamara is alone in the interface room. Young looks ghostly pale, and clammy and his vitals are dangerously low. She’s not sure what’s going on but he seems to be suffering worse than Rush. She’s not sure if letting Young join him was the right thing to do but then again…Rush would probably have died. She feels her eyes sting and runs a hand across her face begging herself not to cry. She can do this, she can get through this. The crew needs her to be strong now. There is no time to feel frustrated.

“TJ?”

She straightens her back and takes a deep breath, before turning, “Wray?” 

She frowns after a moment but Wray nods, confirming that it is her; Tamara is surprised that whoever swapped with Wray hadn’t demanded to speak to her. She supposes with how much time has passed, though, no one important has been waiting with the stones.

Tamara readies herself for the news, “How…how long?”

Wray smiles, sadly, “Three years…almost.” She looks like she’s about to cry.

Tamara lets out the breath she’s been holding and takes a moment to let that register. “How are you feeling?” she asks Wray.

“Alright…I went to see Sharon,” she bites her lip, “She’s fine. She waited for me.” The tears start to roll down her face then and she looks away, as if to hide them. “She’s staying with Eli’s mum at the moment. They kept in contact. I think…I think it helped them both.”

Tamara nods, unsure what to say to that. She has no one at home who would really miss her. Everyone she cares about is right here. Varro, Young, Eli…and the rest of the crew. But she understands what it’s like to leave people behind.

“You can start allocating people to the stones,” she says softly. “Put Eli on first, would you? He’s been working hard and there’s nothing he can do at the moment.”

“Thank you,” Wray says, wiping the last of her tears away, and taking a deep breath.

The fact that even Wray is struggling at the moment gives Tamara some reassurance that her stinging eyes are not an over-reaction. She watches Wray leave and feels the pressure build in her throat, and she lets the tears fill her eyes and overflow. They splatter onto Young’s gurney, and she takes his hand.

    

* * *

    

It takes a moment for Mandy to appear once he’s called her.

“Nick, are you okay?”

He smiles, “Yes, Mandy, fine.”

Then she notices Young, lying unconscious on the floor. “The Colonel?”

Rush runs a hand across is jaw and gestures to Young, “See for yourself.”

She steps forward, cupping the Colonel’s face, and looking over his battered mind, coming away a moment later. “What _happened_ to him?” 

“No time, sorry, Mandy.”

She looks at him, unsurely, a frown fixated on his hands and he knows in that moment that she suspects him. It makes him feel sick. 

“Just tell me can you fix him?” he asks, snapping a little too forcefully.

“I could…” she says, slowly, “but it will take time.”

“What _can_ you do before the virus finds you?” he asks, his voice softer but urgent.

“I can patch him up. But it won’t hold forever.” She won’t meet his eyes and if they weren’t pressed for time he’d wipe away that look with…with an explanation, a hug, a reassurance of some kind; truthfully, he’s not sure what he’d do.

“That’s fine,” he says. “He just has to remember and we’ll mend his mind properly once we’ve destroyed the virus.”

She purses her lips as she works, and he keeps guard, glancing back at her now and then. It doesn’t matter how she feels now. Once the virus is destroyed he can explain himself.

    

* * *

    

Young comes to, slowly. His head feels like it’s on fire, and there’s a buzzing in his ears. For a moment he thinks he’s hungover and waking up in his quarters on Destiny. Then he opens his eyes and finds Rush standing over him. He blinks and winces, recognising the dark wood walls and dusty landscape out the window.

“You could have ruined everything!” Rush snaps.

Young groans, and holds his head as he sits up. It takes him a moment to recognise his surroundings, and recall what Rush is talking about. They’re back in their rooms at the saloon but…he recalls being at home with Emily. He remembers the simulation almost like it’s a memory. Except he’d never been like that with Emily. They’d fought too often, even before he’d made his mistakes in the airforce.

“I’m fine, by the way, thanks for asking.”

Rush glares at him. “How do you feel?” he demands.

He feels like shit. “Alright, just a headache.”

“So you’re well enough to travel then? Good,” Rush answers, huffing angrily.

“Why the hell are you angry with me, now, Rush?” It’s not because Rush actually cares about him. He could very easily have left him in that simulation, surely? Then, Young sees Amanda Perry. She’s standing unsurely behind Rush, giving him a worried look, and suddenly everything makes sense. “It’s because Dr Perry got me out of the simulation, isn’t it?”

Young sees Rush’s jaw clench. “You endangered all of us.”

He gets to his feet, and wobbles for a moment before he finds his balance again. He levels Rush with a glare. “I didn’t do it on purpose. It just…” he trails off with realisation. “It happened when you left me.” He shakes his head, in disbelief. Rush is mad with him for something he can’t have helped. He’s mad, despite it being _his_ fault.

Rush looks away, and visibly grits his teeth, and Young knows that Rush understands that too.

    

* * *

    

Mandy is tense beside Rush, and after a moment she coughs. “I’m going to help Eli,” she mutters, “don’t stay too long, Nick, the virus is coming.”

Rush gives her a nod and then she disappears. He isn’t quite sure why but as soon as she’s gone something snaps in him. He’s so furious at the situation, of Young putting her in danger, of Young being in the simulation with him, of Young wasting his time that he almost punches the man. Instead he curls his hands into a fist, letting his nails dig into his palms and yells at him.

“You don’t understand!”

“Then let me understand, Rush!” Young growls.

“Your mind, as it was before we entered Destiny’s computer, was considerably weaker than mine!” he snaps. “Then, after you exposed yourself to Destiny’s raw data you practically ripped yourself apart. The program automatically tried to put you back together. But you’re more code than person now, Colonel.”

Young looks so utterly stunned Rush almost feels sorry for him, but he’s too angry to care in that moment.

It takes Young a little while to recover but when he does he sounds breathless, “What does that mean?” He looks lost. “Weren’t we converted to code when we entered the program?”

Rush sighs, and schools his voice into a softer tone because he didn’t intend to tell Young this way, and he doesn’t actually wish harm on the man - not this much harm, anyway. Not anymore. “We _were_ converted into code. But, we still retained our bio-signatures, a sort of data fingerprint. But you were missing parts, and Destiny was forced to fill in the blanks. So,” he pauses, “it means that a part of you is indistinguishable from Destiny’s data. You’re a hell of a lot more vulnerable to the virus now.” He pauses, and isn’t sure if he should tell Young this but he supposes that he’d prefer to know now if it was him. “If we survive this, we might not be able to download you back into your body.”

For a moment he wonders if Young thinks he’s lying but he seems to take the information as fact when he gives a shaky reply, “Okay.” He nods, “okay. That doesn’t change anything. We continue on like before.”

Rush eyes him. He looks pale, and suddenly very vulnerable. He wonders if he’s about to faint.

“You said…the virus was coming, so we should…get going.” 

Young starts walking away. The air is thick with tension. 

He hopes the Colonel isn’t going to start acting like a martyr. He doesn’t need to have to worry about Young throwing himself into danger, on top of everything else. To save himself time and effort he decides to solve that.

He matches Young’s pace, and huffs out a rushed, “I’ll do what I can to fix this.”

Young’s expression unnerves him. He looks amused and a little bit pleased - albeit exhausted - and Rush can’t really deal with that expression, especially when it’s aimed at him, so he dips his head and looks away. 

“We should probably go,” he says, before Young can do anything stupid like thank him.

“You’re probably, right,” Young replies, and they leave the room, taking the steps to the second level two at a time. Young laughs after a moment and adds, “Bet you’re glad you took track now.”

Rush scoffs. Of course the Colonel would think his comment was an invitation to get buddy-buddy with him.

    

* * *

    

The science team reconvenes in the control interface chair room, around Rush and Young. Tamara is too nervous to leave their sides, especially with their rapidly increasing heart-beats. The stillness of their bodies and the ghostly glow of the room gives the illusion that the two men are dead, and the unease in the air around Tamara is palpable.

“We’ve found a series of planets,” Brody explains. “But they’re too far away to reach even by shuttle.”

“That isn’t the only problem,” Park continues. “Life support is beginning to fail.”

The lights flicker as if on cue; they’ve been doing that since they woke up, but Tamara’s guessing it’s not the only problem.

“Temperatures are going to drop and then it's going to start getting really _really_ hard to breathe,” Park adds.

"How long do we have?”

"A couple days… _maybe_ a week at most?”

Tamara closes her eyes and prays that Rush and Young find the program soon.

    

* * *

    

They reach the ground floor, and Young is about to step out into the main room when Rush catches him and pulls him back, against the wall.

Young jolts and then looks back at Rush, “What?”

The scientist points to the bar where there are a group of leather-clad men. There’s something off about them and Young’s surprised he didn’t notice before. They’re still dressed in the same attire as those around them and yet…Young suspects it’s something deeper in their coding, a part of the simulation Young isn’t aware he’s seeing, that tips him off to their strangeness.

Rush seems to know what’s going on, though, and so Young follows his lead. They carefully creep down the rest of the steps, before slipping into the back hallway. Young hadn’t even known there was a back door to the saloon and the fact that he hadn’t thought to explore the place before, worries him.

“Who were they?” Young asks, once they’re safely outside.

“The virus,” Rush explains. “It found us.”

“ _Great,_ ” Young huffs, looking about. They’re in some kind of side-alley. There isn’t great cover but there’s enough. “We should try to get out of town.”

Rush gives him a nod, and they keep to the shadows of the buildings as they walk. They slowly make their way through the town, and Young feels his unease grow. It almost seems to easy.

“Where did you go before?” he asks, just to break the silence.

“Went looking for code to fix,” Rush answers, absently. 

The fact he doesn’t sound like he’s paying attention tells Young that it’s the truth. He isn’t sure what he expected but he'd thought, perhaps, that Rush might have left him on purpose. But then, if that had been the case, why had he come back to save him? He sighs, and remembers that Rush _shot_ himself to save him. He’s not sure if he’ll ever really understand the man.

Young is about to ask if he managed to fix much, when Rush grabs him and pulls him down behind a barrel. There’s a shovel and other tools leaning precariously up against the wall beside them and Young almost berates Rush for almost knocking him into them when he sees the figures up ahead.

They’re close. He gets that nagging feeling again that he should recognise them but he isn’t sure where he’s seen them before. Then the people move apart and that’s when Young sees him. _Simeon._

He feels Rush stiffen beside him, and Young has just enough time to catch Rush before he lunges forward out of their hiding place. In his hurry to stop him the tools beside them clatter to the floor but Young is too focused on Rush, on stopping him from running into the trap.

“It’s not him!” he snaps, and when Rush doesn’t stop struggling he says it again. “Rush, it’s not him. The virus is messing with you.”

Rush’s jaw clenches, and his eyes flicker to meet Young’s before realisation finally settles into his limbs.

The shooting starts as soon as they’ve set off at a run. Young hears the bullets whistle passed him and he waits for the eventual burning sting to erupt in some part of his body but it never comes. They turn a corner and Rush skids in the dirt, slamming into Young. He catches him, automatically pulling him back onto his feet and thrusting him forward. They take to an alley, and then another alley, zig-zagging through town until the sound of gunshots cease.

They slow to a jog, and then to a walk. The virus stands across the street, posing as Lucian Alliance. They're making their way down the road slowly.

“We’ll have to wait for them to pass,” Young says.

There’s a soft thud and Young turns to find Rush has collapsed to the ground. He's clutching his thigh and there is blood seeping out between his fingers.

“Rush?”

“I’m fine-” Rush grits out.

Rush’s voice sputters out and he flinches. Young feels the shudder through his own body. It blurs his vision and when he blinks they’re back on Destiny. Solid metal sits beneath him, and the walls of wood have been replaced by bulkheads and tubing and sheets of metal. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Rush gasps.

Destiny’s alarms are blaring, and Rush’s jeans are ripped and black around where he’s clutching his leg. The men across the street are gone, and in their place skulks the blue aliens, the Nakai. Young has barely a couple of seconds to process the change in their surroundings before in the blink of an eye he’s back in the American West.

“Rush?” Young demands. “Was…was that you?”

“Yes,” Rush snaps, “It’s rather difficult to concentrate when I’ve been _shot_!”

Rush’s scared and Young really can’t blame him. He is too. He pulls Rush to his feet, again, wrapping an arm around him and taking most of his weight. Looks like they’ll both be sporting matching limps in the near future.

“Come on, Rush,” he says. “You’re beginning to develop a habit of getting shot, you know.”

Rush grunts in response, and doesn't sound remotely amused.

Rush is the only thing keeping them from losing themselves in the simulation. The fact that the virus specifically used Simeon and the Nakai tells Young that it knows that too. It knows Rush is their indispensable Queen in this game of chess, which, Young supposes makes him their King; if they get out of this alive he’s going to laugh at that analogy, maybe even repeat it to Rush just to see how he’ll react to it, but right now he’s too focused on trying to keep them alive.

Their reality flickers again, and he half-drags, half-carries Rush down Destiny’s dimly-lit corridor. Young hurries, watches out for Nakai fire, and stumbles through the dirt and the heat and avoids the Lucian Alliance. Rush is practically silent, except for his grunts of pain, which align with their flickering environment. Young’s eyes are hurting, and his head’s pounding.

“It’s not far now,” Young lies. “We just have to get out of town,” he hopes.

“Young,” Rush grunts.

He stumbles at the sound of his name.

“Focus on a…memory,” Rush splutters through his pain. “We’ll hide there…anything…just focus…on something.” He grunts, “You and your wife…anything.”

“I thought you said-”

“Whatever happens,” Rush interrupts him, “it…it can’t be as bad as…this.”

Young nods, and takes a deep breath and thinks.

Everything around them fades to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this took so long. So much has happened and I just couldn't bring myself to work on this fic but exams and assignments are finally over and so I should be able to work on it a little more regularly.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Let me know what you think :)


	4. AVARICE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: violence, self-harm, alcoholism, parental neglect, self-destructive behaviours, death of a minor character.
> 
> So…I have a lot of really horrible headcanons for Rush's and Young’s past…I’m really sorry about that.

  
_**  
“For now we must descend to deeper grief,  
As all the stars that rose when I set out  
To meet you, start to fall.”** _

**— Dante’s The Divine Comedy, Canto VII**   


    

    

Varro knows Tamara has been avoiding him. In the few moments she takes a break and goes to the mess she ignores him, walks right passed him and continues on. He knows she’s stressed, and he knows she doesn’t want to be distracted but his first instinct, after seeing her so distraught, is to to hug her, to hold her, to tell her everything will work out in the end. Except she won’t even look at him.

She spends all her time in the room where Colonel Young and Dr Rush are laid out, and he has to wonder if her insistence not to leave the Colonel’s side is more than professional or friendly obligation. He knows he doesn’t have a right to judge, but he also needs to know what exactly her tie to him is. He needs to know what she wants from him. If it’s friendship, he can do that, if it’s more, he’d love that. He wants to help her but she won’t talk, and he’s not sure how to deal with that.

He gives her as much space as he can manage, before he thinks, perhaps, that she’s waiting for him to offer his support. She has always seemed to him, to be stubborn like that.

“Tamara?” he asks, when he finds her alone in the dimly-lit Chair Room.

She doesn’t answer, and doesn’t turn to him. Instead she continues to work through the monitor she’s standing behind. She’s looks so damn tired. The rings under her eyes make her face look gaunt and sickly. He knows it’s partly because of her lack of sleep and partly because they’ve had to start rationing food again. She almost looks as bad as the unconscious men on the gurneys. He steps around her patients, and lays a hand on her shoulder. If she shrugs him off he’ll know to leave, but she doesn’t.

“Tamara?” he asks again.

She starts shaking, and then leans against him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she mutters. 

He wraps an arm around her and holds her close, “Don’t be.”

“I’ve been avoiding you, I know. I just can’t…I can’t deal with this right now. Not with everything going on. I just…can’t…”

He gently turns her on the spot, taking her hands in his, and he smiles, “I can wait. I’m not going anywhere.” He gestures to the unconscious men, “They need you more than I do.”

She smiles at him, and looks relieved.

He wants desperately to cup her face then and kiss her, to confirm that she had nothing to worry about, but he doesn’t. “Can I do anything to help?” he asks.

“Can you…” she looks apologetic, “can you pick up some food from the Mess for me?”

“Of course, Tamara,” he answers.

She holds his hand just a little longer, before he smiles and leaves her to her work. He can do food.

    

* * *

    

When Young’s surroundings come into focus and solidify around him he doesn’t know where he is. It’s a campus of some sort, but not one he recognises. He looks about and suddenly realises Rush is gone. He doesn’t know what that means, whether the virus got to him or he…he is dead.

Young runs a hand over his face, and tries to think. “ _Fuck,_ ” he mutters, indignantly when nothing comes to mind.

He still knows he’s in a simulation, which is good. He’s not sure how long he’ll have before he forgets that, though. He sets off at a jog, looking for someone to ask directions from. He stops the first person he sees, a young woman in a blue blouse, carrying a pile of books.

“What campus is this?” he asks, at least that will tell him if it’s a memory of his or Rush’s.

The student frowns, before answering, “Berkley.” 

She looks at him strangely but he doesn’t care. She doesn’t matter. She’s a fabricated simulation after all. Even so, he responds with an automatic, “Thanks,” before turning away. Her answer confirms it for him, then. This isn’t his memory, which means it has to be Rush’s. 

It answers his first question: where _he_ is. But it doesn’t answer where Rush is. He could be anywhere. He could be bleeding out in a corridor for all he knows.

He looks about, wondering where he can even start looking when he notices a group of security guards. He pauses, and for a moment considers asking _them_ for directions but there is a wrongness about them, that only increases as the four of them turn to stare at Young. He holds their lifeless, knowing gaze for only a moment before he sprints for the building. He doesn’t need Rush this time to tell him that they’re the virus. He reaches the entrance, vaguely aware of them following, and takes the steps two at a time, running down the hall. He doesn’t look back to see if they’ve followed him inside - he expects they have - and keeps on running, passing confused students who look up or gasp as he passes them.

He skids to a halt, and leans up against a wall shrouded in shadow. He stops there for a moment just to catch his breath. 

Then he hears a distant, unfamiliar voice call out: “Dr Rush?” and his eyes snap open.

He wanders forwards. He’s on the top level of the building, in a hallway that looks over the entrance. He recognises Rush’s voice before he recognises the man, himself. Rush is smiling. Young leans on the balustrade and stares. The student speaks, saying something that he can’t quite catch and Rush laughs in response.

“My office hours are ten till twelve,” he says, and the student thanks him before leaving.

Then Rush starts to wander further into the building.

Young runs, thanking whatever higher being there is - if there even is one - that his leg doesn’t hurt. But when he reaches the bottom floor it is to find the hallway empty. Rush is no where to be seen.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he gasps, setting off at a slow jog. If he was lucky he could catch Rush before he wandered away. He checks every room as he passes but there’s no sign of him. Rush might not be bleeding out but it looks like he’s immersed in the simulation just as Young had been. He’s not sure what that means for them. He has no idea how to call Dr Perry back, even if he wanted to. To make matters worse the virus is close. It doesn’t matter. He won’t fucking leave Rush behind, not when he’s their only damn chance of succeeding. 

He comes to a set of offices and almost doubles over in relief when he sees the one labeled “Professor Nicholas Rush.”

He barely gives himself a moment to catch his breath before he knocks on the door, praying that the Scot is inside. After a moment Rush calls for him to enter, and he sighs as he opens the door. It’s not until he’s actually in the room and Rush is looking at him in an uncharacteristically friendly way that he realises he has no idea what to say to him.

“Yes?” Rush asks after a moment. When Young doesn’t answer he suddenly looks concerned. “Are you alright?”

“Uh…hi, I’m…Everett,” he begins, feeling both ridiculous standing in Rush’s office, and unnerved by the man’s sincere lack of hostility.

Rush smiles at him, and starts putting away some of the paperwork on his desk. “If you’re here about the last paper I haven’t marked any of them yet.”

“No,” Young says, before remembering that he’s in a hurry and he needs some kind of lie, “there was a lecturer who asked to see you,” he comes up with, quickly. “He was in a hurry, just asked me to tell you to meet him out the front of the building.”

Rush looks up, “Professor Kemp?”

Young nods, “Yeah.” If he can just get Rush out of the building and away from campus, away from the virus, _then_ he can worry about getting him to remember.

Rush frowns, but gratefully stands to follow Young. “Right, I’ll-” he begins but pauses when a shrill ringing interrupts him. Then he gives Young an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry, just let me take this,” and before Young can think of another lie he answers the phone. Whoever responds brings a smile to Rush’s face, “Hi.”

Young grits his teeth, and tries not to say anything that will change Rush’s mind about following him. But they need to hurry, and he’s not sure what to do. He looks about the office, takes in the white board covered in equations, and the shelf filled with books. He never thought he’d see this side of Rush - the Rush from _before_ , before Destiny, before Icarus and it’s not quite what he expected.

“That’s wonderful!” Rush exclaims with a laugh.

Young grimaces at the sound. It’s painful to hear Rush so happy. He wonders if he was ever really like this.

“Okay, yes, of course,” Rush continues.

Young glances out the window at the campus below, and flinches when he catches the eye of the same group of security guards. They’re watching him. They know exactly where he is. 

“I’ll see you soon, goodbye.”

Young turns to find Rush putting the phone down. He looks up and gives Young a wide smile that makes him sick to the stomach.

“I’m afraid I’ve got to go home,” Rush says, still smiling, and pulling his jacket on.

“What about Professor Kemp?” Young asks.

Rush waves a hand, “Tell him it’s good news about Gloria. He’ll understand.”

Young sighs, “I can’t do that.”   
The man looks up at him in confusion.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he swears under his breath, “Rush, I need you to wake up.”

“What?” he scoffs.

“My name is Colonel Everett Young. You and I are…friends,” he winces even as he says it. “I need you to come with me, right now.”

Rush grimaces, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Young steps in front of him, blocking the doorway. “You _do_ know me,” he tries again. “Just try to remember.”

Suddenly the hostility that Young is familiar is there in Rush’s face. “Step out of the way,” he says sternly.

“You and I, and an entire crew are stuck on a ship called the Destiny,” Young continues, unperturbed. “You’re our lead scientist and an expert in Ancient technology.”

Rush picks up his phone, and begins to dial, “I’m calling campus security.”

“ _Rush,_ ” Young groans, “please…”

Rush doesn’t even glance up at him.

Young knows Rush has warned him but he doesn’t know what else to do. He grimaces and looks at the man. “I’m sorry,” he says, because he is sorry. He’s sorry that Rush seems, for the first time since he’s known him, to be truly happy. He’s sorry that he has to wake him up. He’s sorry that Rush might have to fix whatever mess he’s about to cause. But he doesn’t know what else to do so he pulls on the threads of the simulation, feels the scene and Rush’s memory unravel, break apart and scatter, and then he sees himself unravel too, shattering to pieces until there’s nothing left but numbers; until he forgets he ever existed independently of the ones and zeroes.

    

* * *

    

Varro can see that Tamara is enjoying her meal - enjoying might be too strong a word, though - she was obviously hungry and he can see that she needed a pick me up. She starts to smile again by the end of her meal and Varro is enjoying the contentedness slowly working its way back into her. He thinks she forgets for a moment that she’s sitting in a dark room, in the middle of a failing spaceship beside two patients she is struggling to help.

He goes to take her hand but freezes when a shrill beeping fills the room.

Just like that the tension is back in Tamara’s shoulders and she is jumping up to check a monitor before running to Colonel Young’s side. “He’s going into cardiac arrest!” she exclaims, before beginning chest compressions.

“I could get-” Varro starts but Tamara is already shaking her head.

“I need you here,” she says. Her voice is calm and commanding. She’s stoic even as she must be terrified - or, maybe, Varro thinks, she isn’t giving herself time to feel panic, not yet when it could endanger Young’s life further. “See that machine,” she points to a defibrillator they have on a cart, “Bring that over and turn it on.”

He does as he’s told. He’s played nurse before in war zones but never with machines like this. Nevertheless he stays quiet, knowing that what Tamara needs is silent obedience. She continues to practice CPR on Young as the paddles charge and then when they’re ready she pucks them up. 

“Get back,” she warns, only giving him a moment before she plants the paddles on Young’s chest.

His body rises from the gurney with a jolt as electricity courses through him. Varro watches the monitor but it’s continuing to beep rapidly and whine shrilly.

“Charge it again,” Tamara orders, all but throwing the paddles back to him as she returns to pressing down her palms on Young’s chest.

She’s done two rounds of chest compressions and breathing before the paddles are ready again.

“Clear!” she calls, pressing them to Young’s chest.

He jolts again, before falling back to the gurney and Varro holds his breath. The monitor continues to beep.

_Beep ... Beep ... beep … beep …. beep .… beep .… beep .…….… beep .…….… beep .…….…_

Young starts to visibly breathe again, his chest rising and falling. He’s breathing too quickly still but he’s breathing. Tamara gives Varro a nod, before silently setting up, what she had previously told him was an oxygen machine. She pulls a mask over Young’s face and then stares at him.

“I’ll have to thank Brody for the defibrillator,” she laughs, a manic sort of smile breaking across her face.

He frowns as her laugh becomes hysterical and she begins to shake. He steps forward to envelop her in a hug, “You’re okay,” he whispers into her hair, “You’re okay. He’s okay. You did it. He’s alive. They’re fine.”

    

* * *

    

Rush blinks and the next thing he knows he’s standing in a bedroom. The blinds are drawn but even then he knows it’s night. He reaches for the wall, trying to find a light and once he has he switches it on. He knows they’re in one of Young’s memories in a second.

“You stupid, fucking idiot,” he sighs, taking in the toys and medals and the posters on the wall depicting an assortment of bands.

He vaguely recollects the simulation he had been trapped in and feels guilty when the surge of emotion that rises in him is anger. Even if it was an illusion it had been a good life - Gloria had been alive, he had continued his lecturing at Berkeley, he’d been happy. But eventually the virus would have arrived to devour him. It would have been a short-lived happiness.

Young had saved him.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says, watching the small body in the bed stir.

“Hello?”

Rush flinches, “H-hello.” His response is stilted. He doesn’t have much experience with children and he’s torn between being careful and composed - as difficult as that is when he’s on the clock and stressed to the point of exhaustion - and just knocking Young out again and determining the damage this time.

“Who- Who ate you?” the fear in the startled voice stops Rush in his tracks.

This might be Young but he’s also just a boy, and with that realisation something in Rush impulsively softens. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m a friend of your parents,” he lies.

Young leans over and switches his lamp on. In the dim light Rush can see he looks sickly, and he’s not sure if it’s because Young is that injured or if his expectation of injury as concocted a memory of being sick. 

“You look terrible,” Rush says before he can help himself.

Young’s eyes flutter as he nods, “I know…”

Rush steps forward, and vaguely remembers how his father used to care for him and coddle him when he was sick. Even if it was a flu he’d sit by his bedside and read to him - when he had time, of course, and wasn’t working a late shift. He’d bring him hot soup and even feed it to him sometimes, spoiling him when he could to make up for how often he was away from home.

“Do you mind if I take your temperature?” Rush asks. 

“It’s ‘kay,” Young answers sleepily and Rush kneels beside him, leaning the back of his hand against the boy’s forehead. He’s boiling and even in the dim light Rush can see he’s sweating and pale.

“You a doctor?”

Rush smiles, despite himself, and sees for a moment the reflection of his father in the boy’s wide, childlike eyes. “Aye, your parents called me.”

Young frowns. “I didn’t tell them.”

“That you’re sick?” 

Young shakes his head, and lifts his blanket back to reveal a swollen and bruised ankle.

Rush hisses when he sees it and forgets for a moment that this is a simulation, “What the bloody hell happened?”

“I was playing football, and I slipped.”

That’s when Rush remembers the memory he and Young had shared earlier on. He’d seen Young as a boy sitting in hospital with a cast on his foot. He suspects that this little simulation isn’t completely fictitious after all. He wonders if Young really had snuck back into his house without letting his parents see his injured foot. He probably did, knowing the idiot.

“Looks like it might be sprained.”

“Thought you were a doctor?”

“I am, and it looks like it might be sprained,” Rush says huffs, before actively trying to be patient and wait for the inevitable questions the boy will have.

But Young seems satisfied with that explanation, or at least he’s too tired to care. “Did my friends send you?”

Rush nods, “Can I take a look at your foot, now?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Young answers, weakly. 

Rush puts a careful hand on his leg, and grips it gingerly. The boy winces but Rush doesn’t let go and he can feel solid matter - a swollen foot - and shattered data, simultaneously. He mends what he can, feels around the bone fractures and pushes the code back together, soothing the bruised flesh and smoothing out the data. He finds the bits of code Mandy used to fix Young and begins to rebuild them, re-bridging gaps and tears in Young’s personality, in his memories. He doesn’t touch anything he doesn’t know he can fix, and does his best to put Young back together. It’s still not a permanent fix, but he’s beginning to think that there isn’t a permanent fix to this.

“You know I don't have any money?” Young says, worriedly.

Rush smiles at him, “It’s on the house.”

When he’s done all he can he sits back on his heels. The foot looks a lot less purple and swollen, though he knows its not a permanent fix.

“How’s that feel, Young?”

Young frowns, “Only my teacher’s call me that.”

Rush snorts, “How do you feel, Everett?”

Young moves his foot and tilts his head. “Huh, maybe you are a doctor after all.”

Rush laughs, despite himself, “How ‘bout I look at that head of yours now?”

“Okay.”

Rush places the back of his hand against Young’s forehead once more and he still feels very warm. But Rush can see the data here isn’t as badly damaged as his foot had been. He runs his hand through Young’s hair, carding through the data and mending holes, untangling knots, and reorganising the information until Young has fallen asleep. Rush still has his hand in Young’s hair even after he’s finished and in a moment of weakness thinks that Young looks strangely sweet like this - young and innocent. He’s remarkably easier to handle like this, when there's nothing of the older man in him, none of that hot-temper or wild judgement. He's just a vulnerable kid, and Rush guesses by this point, with how fractured his mind is, he might as well be.

But it does make him wonder. What kind of things had happened between this moment and Icarus to make this soft-eyed boy into the hard-edged man he knows today? He doesn’t miss the irony of it, recognising his younger self in the boy. They’d both become so jaded in life, and he knows it’s not the same for everyone and he knows they probably didn’t deserve it. He thinks maybe if he’d got to know Young, to hear his story, that he might have…But he’s not sure what he would have done. It didn’t matter now. Not when the crew was in danger and things like petty arguments and grudges - even if they didn’t seem petty in the moment - were the last thing he should be thinking about.

He sighs and settles down beside the bed to watch the door for the night. He's not sure how secure they are here, but he knows Young needs to rest so he lets him. He’ll wake him if he needs to, and then they’ll run. Again.

    

* * *

    

Varro retrieved Scott, Eli and Chloe as soon as he wasn't needed anymore and Tamara is incredibly grateful. They know what they're doing and she doesn't have to worry about splitting her concentration. Not that she needs to concentrate so much now, because thankfully the worst is over.

“He's stable,” Tamara announces with relief, it's more for herself than for the others because they can see that Young's fine from the monitors in front of them.

“Yeah,” Eli replies, “it looks like that was Rush’s doing.”

“Rush?” Tamara asks, not expecting the comment. “How?”

Eli runs a hand through his hair, “Uh, well they’re both sorta code right now and Rush is good with code so he…fixed him.”

Tamara looks concerned, “What do you mean they’re…code?”

“Their minds were converted into code when they went in.”

“What’s stopping Rush from changing the Colonel’s…code?” Scott asks.

 _“Matt,”_ Chloe frowns, in disapproval.

“What?” He shrugs, “It’s a reasonable question, ain’t it?”

It is a reasonable question even though he’s pretty sure Rush would never actually do it. Eli's...maybe 85% sure? Either way, though, “He wouldn’t be able to.” Eli points to where the Colonel’s body is lying on the gurney, “If he did Young’s body would reject his consciousness.”

“But why didn’t that happen with Dr Perry and Gin when they were sharing Chloe’s body?” Scott asks, frowning.

“Because they were completely severed from their bodies,” Chloe supplies. “And they _were_ being rejected by my body.”

Eli nods, “Colonel Young and Rush are still connected to their bodies, which is why Young went into cardiac arrest.”

TJ looks a little less pale by the time Eli’s finished, so at least he’s reassured her. He doesn’t feel so reassured anymore, though, because now that he thinks about it…Young’s mind should not be this damaged after becoming deeply immersed in a simulation. It should be cracked or dented - metaphorically -, sure, but it looks practically shattered. Eli reads over the data on his screen again and again but he keeps coming to the same conclusion. Rush’s data is mostly intact but Young’s is missing chunks.

Eli looks up, and Chloe catches his eye. He sees it in her face. She’s noticed too. He bites his lip and wonders if he should tell TJ. She’s looking over Young again, pushing some of his curls off his face so she can wipe his brow. When he meets Chloe’s eyes again she shakes her head. He gives her a reluctant nod and goes back to studying the data.

He can’t be certain of anything yet. Maybe, Rush can fix it before they leave the simulation. He’ll tell TJ later. He’ll tell her if it becomes an actual issue that they have to deal with. For now, though, he’ll just keep monitoring and hope that Rush can fix it.

    

* * *

    

When Rush wakes he is instantly seized with trepidation. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep but after everything that had happened he’d been too exhausted to stay awake. It could very well have cost them their lives. But when he looks after he finds that while there is no immediate danger he doesn’t know where he is. He blinks dazedly against the glare of the sun. He’s in the middle of some kind of campus and for a moment he thinks he's back in his memories of Berkeley except he still doesn't recognise the exact field he's on. Then he sees a teenager - short, stocky with hair that’s a mess of curls - and recognises him. He is unmistakably Young. He watches him pull his hood up over his head and stuff his hands into his pockets, before and proceeding to walk quickly towards a building across the field. Rush follows at a distance, and pays for it when he enters the building to find the hallway dark and empty. He frowns as he checks each room, feeling agitated the longer he goes without finding the Colonel. He sighs in relief when he recognises the man’s curls. Young is is in some kind of art or woodwork room, bent over, focused on something. 

Rush opens the door at the exact same time that Young cries out in pain. Rush flinches back, for a moment thinking the virus has found them but there is no one else in the room. They are alone. Young is breathing shallowly, and whimpering in pain and Rush is confused.

“Young?”

The teenager looks up, glances over his shoulder, and fiddles with whatever he’s working on, before pulling his sleeves down. His hood has fallen off, and Rush can see his face is flushed and his eyes are red.

“Who’re you?” he demands, wiping his tears away with a sleeve.

Rush frowns, and glances at the thing Young was working on, but there’s nothing there…nothing but a vice fixed to a table. Then he notices the way Young is cradling his hand to his chest and he makes the connection quickly, feeling faint at the realisation.

“Why would you…” Rush trails off. This is the same boy that hurt his foot, the same boy he helped…but there is a hardness in his eyes that Rush recognises as solely indicative of the _Colonel_ Young he knows today. Even then, the fear in the boy’s eyes has Rush stepping forward to reach out to him, “Let me have a look at that.”

Young recoils, “What? Fuck off, I don’t know you.”

“Young,” Rush repeats, “give me your hand.”

A flash of uncertainty crosses Young’s face before the teenager pushes passed him.

“Where are you going?”

“To the nurse!” Young snaps.

He’s gone before Rush can think to stop him. He glances at the vice and feels a weird sense of satisfaction when he pulls apart its code. The vice melts, metal fuzing together and dripping to the floor, before disappearing altogether. He stands there feeling numb before he remembers they’re on a clock and that he can’t afford to leave Young alone.

    

* * *

    

Rush finds him sitting at the bus stop with his hand in a cast. He knows he needs to get Young out of the simulation but the man’s mind is still too addled. If he tried to free him now it would only damage his mind further. He needs more time to heal. 

Rush sits down beside him. “You gonna tell me why you broke your own hand?”

Young glances up, and frowns when he recognises him. “Have exams coming up,” he replies, before shrugging. “Now I can defer.”

Rush feels sick. He’d been mad at Young for getting himself stuck in his own simulated memory. He’d blamed him for putting Mandy in danger too. It didn’t mean he wanted this. Once upon a time he might have thought Young deserved this as punishment. Not anymore. Not after knowing what it was like to be stuck in his own memories. Not after Young had stopped to help him. At the very least Rush owed him for that.

He runs a hand through his hair, and wonders why Young keeps sticking his neck out for him. It’s more than what he deserves. He tests the edges of Young’s mind as he sits with him. For a moment he tries with all his might to pull Young out of the simulation but he feels Young waver, like he’s about to throw up or faint and Rush stops immediately. He considers asking for Mandy’s help again but he can’t bear the thought of her getting caught by the virus. They have time still before things become dire, and the virus doesn’t seem to know where they are. He knows this is his fault but he still thinks it was the right decision. Young won’t think so, will probably hate him - especially after this - but that’s nothing new.

    

* * *

    

The Life Support system is no longer failing. It's offline. The ship is heating up, and the air is noticeably thinner.

“Crew members have started fainting,” Wray says to the room full of glum faces.

Tamara wipes the sweat from her brow. “I know,” she says, “we’re all starting to suffer.”

Tamara turns to the science team as if for an answer but they all shake their heads. The blue lights overhead are shining a ghostly gleam across their sweaty faces, and unintentionally everyone turns to the unconscious bodies laying on the gurneys.

Eli directs a tired, “Help me Obi-wan Kanobi. You’re my only hope…” toward their sleeping figures, but there is little humour in the comment and no one laughs. They’re all too tired to laugh.

    

* * *

    

Young’s father barely glances at him when he gets home. He doesn't mind. He tries to avoid his mother but she catches his arm as he passes her on the way to his bedroom. She smiles up at him from the couch and asks how school is going.

“Great, mum,” he lies.

She doesn’t notice his cast. “That’s good,” she grins. “I’m so proud of you, you know.”

“I know mum.”

“So, so proud,” her voice echoes down the wine bottle as she brings it back to her lips, and Young heads to his room.

He studies as best he can with his one hand but no matter how he looks at the equations or questions they’re utter gibberish to him. He glances at the pile of assignments, all failures. He just can’t do it. He isn’t good enough and it’s not like he isn’t trying. He’s a complete disappointment and there’s nothing he can do to change that. He hears his father go to bed about nine o’clock and he counts the minutes until ten. Then he slips out of his room and around the couch where his mother is passed out. He picks through her bottles until he finds a half-finished Johnny Walker. He slips it into his jacket and picks out one of the wine bottles, heading back to his room. He cries as he chugs the wine. 

“So, proud,” he scoffs into the bottle and it echoes back at him. His vision blurs and suddenly, thankfully, reality doesn’t feel as sharp any longer.

    

* * *

    

The familiarity of Young’s hopelessness overwhelms Rush. He remembers the appeal of alcohol. He remembers stealing his father’s whiskey and sneaking into clubs. He remembers bruised knuckles and bloodied brick walls. He shakes his head. He can’t let himself fall into his memories, too. That’s what the virus _wants_. He can’t keep doing this, can’t keep watching Young wallow in his past and wait for the virus to find them. He doesn’t know what to do, or how to get Young out of the simulation but he damn well won’t leave him. His fury and desperation gets the better of him.

He lunges out of the shadows, takes Young by the lapels of his jacket and shakes him.

“Wake up! This _isn’t_ real. You have to wake up.” 

Young stares up at him, eyes blank, mouth hanging open in confusion. There is such misery in Young’s look and Rush can’t take it anymore.

“ _Wake_ up!” he yells, “You _do_ succeed. You become a Colonel in the bloody airforce. You’re a leader. There are people who rely on you.”

Young shakes his head.

“You need to wake up. There’s a crew we have to get back to. A crew we have to save. We have to complete Destiny’s mission, remember? Come on,” he screams, “ _Everett!_ ” 

Young’s eyes widen, and finally there is recognition, “Rush?”

Then his hands lash out to grab at Rush's clothing and he is clutching at him like a drowning man. Something snaps, and Rush feels himself slipping, sliding, and Young keeps on grabbing more of him, sinking his nails into his skin and Rush can’t handle it and Young pulls him under.

    

* * *

    

“You been out with the lads again?”

Nick closes the door behind him, and doesn't meet his father's eyes, “Aye.”

“I don’t like you spending time with them,” his father says, watching him from the kitchen where he’s making them dinner.

“They’re okay,” Nick replies.

“Not Skeg. He’s gonna lead you boys down a bad way.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

He waits until his father’s gone to bed before he climbs out his window.

    

* * *

    

Nick waits until it’s dark, when the customers have all trickled out of the shop, and it’s almost closing time. He checks his watch before giving Clip a look.

“We right to go, Legs?”

They call him Legs not because he's tall - he's the shortest in the gang - but because he's the fastest. He gives him a smirk, pulling his hood up over his head, and giving one last glance at his watch. They have to time this thing perfectly or they’d all end up in a cell. 

He gives Clip a nod, “Go,” and they make a run for the shop. 

Clip has his gun out and is making threats as Nick checks the shop’s clear. Then he clambers over the counter as the cashier opens the register. The guy tries to reach for the landline but Nick pulls out his chiv.

“Naw pal. Not yet.”

Then he hooks the duffel bag - now full of cash - over his shoulder and runs for the backstreets. He skids to a halt by the corner, and checks his watch again just as Skeg brings the car round. Nick dumps the money in the back, and runs. He meets Clip at the next store and they clean out the register, and he runs for the street corner again.

He starts laughing as the adrenaline kicks in. He feels so bloody alive. The plan’s simple and brilliant: four shops, three minutes a shop, three minutes a dump, twenty-four minutes in total. The police take two minutes to react, ten minutes to drive out to the area, and five minutes to get a statement - unless they figure it’s better to try to catch the thieves. They never do catch them, though.

They’re already on the third shop when Nick hears the sirens. He doesn’t even see the damn police car until he’s already left the fourth shop and made it into the shadows of an alleyway. He starts laughing uncontrollably as he runs the bag back to Skeg’s place. He takes the alleys, avoids brightly lit streets, and is making good time when he turns a corner and sees a shadow move.

He skids to a halt in front of the man, and his hand goes automatically for his chiv.

“Rush?”

“Whit?”

“Rush,” the man repeats, “it’s _me,_ Young.”

“Ah dunno you.”

The man moves forward, and Nick flicks out his chiv. 

“Oi,” he waves the knife in warning, “that’ll do, pal.” 

The man holds his hands up in surrender as Nick moves past him, “Rush I-“

Nick spins on the spot, throwing a, “mental bastart,” over his shoulder before setting off at a run.

    

* * *

    

 Nick is breathing hard before he runs into Clip. Dig and the new kid - named Fish - are with him.

“Lose the polis?” he asks.

Clip nods, and Dig steps forward, “Gotta give us the bag, Legs.”

Nick readjusts the duffel bag on his shoulder, “That wasn’ the plan.” He eyes them, suspiciously, “We gotta take the bag ta Skeg’s like we said.”

“Skeg’s gonna take more than he’s owed,” Clip replies. “We should split this four-way. Make it fair. What’s Skeg done that we couldn’t.”

Nick takes a step back, “He’s the one with the getta’way.”

“We could have done it without him,” Fish says. “Where even is’e? Ee’s safe at ‘ome.” 

“Give us the bag and we’ll split it between the four of us,” Clip continues.

Nick shakes his head, “No.” 

It's not like he particularly likes Skeg but there's rules, there's things they don't do and they don't _betray_ one another. A team effort needs trust and if there's a weak link the entire operation goes to shit. He know's that. They should too.

The boys lunge at him. They knock him to the ground, and rip the bag from his hands. He manages to kick Dig in the shins, sending him to the ground, before he’s flicked out his knife and waving it at the others. 

“Give it here,” he orders.

Clip is holding up his hands, “Legs…come on…”

Nick sees Fish try to flee and he grabs him, Clip lunges at the same time, trying to knock him off his feet. The three of them go down and there’s a gasp. The next thing he knows the boy under him is spluttering and convulsing. Nick clambers backwards, Clip jumps to his feet. 

“Fuck, _fuck, Nick,_ you-”

Fish is pale, and gasping, holding his stomach and desperately trying to keep his blood from spilling out onto the street.

Nick feels himself begin to shake. He stares at his hands. They’re wet and slippery and he sees blood and the other boy is yelling and all Nick can think to say is… “I didn’t- I didn’t mean to- You…you did this-” he’s crying he thinks. He’s not sure, but his hands are red and when he wipes an arm across his face he thinks he leaves a streak of it along his cheek. He gags, “I didn’t mean to…”

The boy - he’s just a kid. He stops convulsing but his mouth continues to splutter. His eyes are wide, unseeing and there’s blood pooling in his throat. The street is covered in blood and he's alone. The night is silent and Nick isn’t sure what to do. He doesn’t even notice that the bag of money is gone - gone with Clip and Dig, who’d both run away. He thinks about running, or looking for a police officer but he knows they won’t listen to him. They’ll see a stupid kid covered in blood and assume he’s murdered somebody…they won’t ever consider that it was an accident. They won’t ever consider that the person is still alive. Still…

Fish makes one last gurgling sound before falling silent altogether.

“Fffffuck,” Nick splutters, collapsing to his knees. 

He’s shaking uncontrollably, feels his insides burning up and he isn’t sure what to do. He tries to tell himself to move, to get up, to run but he can’t feel his legs. He jumps when a hand lands on his shoulder but he’s shaking too hard to be able to speak, and he can’t fucking move.

He looks up to see the man from before. “It’s okay,” the man says, “it’s not real.”

He wants to believe him.

“I just need you to remember why we’re here, why we’re actually here, and then you can forget this.”

He’s talking gibberish, and it’s the last thing Nick needs. He has to get away. He pushes out of the man’s grip and runs.

    

* * *

    

He can’t feel anything; not when he bloodies the brick walls outside his house with his fists; not when he breaks an arm in a gang fight; not when he puts out cigarettes on his legs. It’s fascinating to watch what happens, though, watch his skin try desperately to mend everything he breaks.

He visits the kid’s grave once - although grave is an overstatement because really it’s just a pile of twigs tied together to look like a cross. He doesn’t know what the kid’s real name is. He never bothered asking, and it doesn’t look like the kid has family because he gets no special burial. The only people who knew him won’t say his name, will barely even mention him.

Skeg gives him a beating for losing the money but every punch he gives Nick accepts.

His father starts asking him to grow up, to start taking the world seriously, to start thinking about his future and Nick gets a job. It’s a piss poor job, more grime and grit than anything but it pays well enough and it makes his father smile. His father calls him a “man” now, and Nick forgets the name _Legs_. He never stops dreaming of the night, though. He thinks he’d have to leave Glasgow, altogether, to leave that part of himself behind too.

    

* * *

    

Young can do nothing but watch Rush burn.

He’s standing across the street from Rush’s house. He’s lost, and they’re losing and he’s not sure how much more of this he can handle. He’s relived too many things he’d thought he’d forgotten. He knows more about Rush than he’d ever thought he’d learn about the man, and it isn’t fair, because now Rush’s anger, and his frustration, and every little infuriating bit of the man makes sense to Young. He’s not sure if he can ever look at Rush the same way again.

They might come back from this, but they won’t be the same people that went into Destiny’s computer.

He needs Dr Perry’s help. She’s the only other person who might be able to help him. He thinks hard about finding her but nothing happens. He shouts her name into the cold, simulated night air, but nothing changes. He screams in frustration until his voice cuts out. There has to be some way he can contact her. She can’t be gone. Surely, she would be watching out for them incase they needed her again.

He thinks about what Rush would do in his situation, and comes up with an easy answer. He’d write up a bit of code, and contact her that way, but Young laughs, coldly, he has no idea how to write code. He sighs, before taking a deep, shuddering breath, and then another one to calm his nerves. He just has to manipulate the simulation. He can do that. He can do it without tearing the code apart. He just has to contact Dr Perry, somehow…like with a phone, or-

A phone booth appears across the street, lit up by an internal light. Young frowns, had he done that? He wanders, cautiously over to the booth, before opening it and looking dial. There are no numbers, only letters. He hesitantly spins the dial, stopping on each letter P - E - R - R - Y. 

Nothing happens. He looks around, even calls out the doctor’s name but she doesn’t appear. He sighs, letting go of the phone and watching it bounce on its cord, before taking a seat on the curb. It was worth a try, he supposes.

“Young?”

He looks up and finds Dr Amanda Perry standing in front of him. He gives a disbelieving laugh, before smiling up at her, “Thank god. I wasn’t sure how to contact you.”

She looks worried, “I got your message. What’s wrong?”

“It’s Rush,” Young explains, waving a hand at the house behind her. “He’s stuck in some childhood memory and I can’t get him out without…” He sighs, “Please tell me you can get him out.”

She nods, “I can.”

One moment they’re on the street outside Rush’s childhood house and the next they’re in the boy’s room. He’s asleep, facedown on his bed. Young wouldn’t be surprised if he’d fallen asleep as soon as he’d hit the bed.

She sits beside the boy. “Nick,” she says, softly, running her hand through his hair. He twitches in his sleep, and begins to stir. “Nick, wake up. You need to remember.”

Young turns away from the scene and decides to give them a little privacy. He knows she’ll get through to him.

    

* * *

    

Rush blinks, dazedly, and looks up to find Mandy leaning over him. She smiles.

“Mandy, what are you-” he lays back down and groans. After a moment he remembers himself, “Young?”

“He’s alright, Nick,” she answers. Her hand is still in his hair. “You’re lucky he managed to contact me.”

Rush looks about his childhood room, and sighs, “Yeah.”

She takes his hand, and he doesn’t look at her. “I can’d do this anymore,” she says. “I can’t…you don’t…”

“Mandy,” Rush sits up abruptly, despite his headache, “I told you, I don’t want anything happening to you. I-“

“ _Don’t_ Nick,” she frowns. “Even if I believed that-“

He can’t bear for her to think that he doesn’t care for her. “Mandy…”  “Even if you did. I can’t keep waiting for you to solve this. I can’t keep hoping you will.” 

He grits his teeth, “After we’ve fixed Destiny…” he begins, before trailing off. He has nothing he can promise her. He doesn’t know how to give her a new body; he doesn’t no where to even start.

Mandy cups his face, and smiles in understanding, “This is my fate, Nick. Here I can walk, and dance and feed myself and do everything I couldn’t before. Here I have information beyond my wildest dreams, knowledge I couldn’t have understood before this.”

“But it’s not real.”

“It’s as real as I need it to be,” she answers, a little defensively, “and I might not have you here, and that hurts, but Nick, if I had to choose between going back or staying here…I think I’d stay here.”

“What about the virus?” Rush asks. “If it finds you…”

“I know you’ll fix it,” she says.

He shakes his head and is about to tell her he’s not certain he can, when she suddenly holds out her hand and a cube of data appears in her palm.

“You found it!”

She smiles at him, “And I’ll make sure Eli gets it, don’t worry.” Then she leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek. He looks up in confusion and already knows what she’s going to say, before she says it. “Goodbye, Nick.”

There’s a heaviness to the goodbye that makes it feel more permanent than the last time they’d said farewell. He almost doesn’t answer her, but that would be worse. When he does reply his voice breaks.

“Goodbye, Mandy.”

    

* * *

    

Young looks up when Dr Perry leaves Rush’s room. “He’s resting,” she says. “He’ll need a moment or two to recover.”

“Thanks.”

Dr Perry gives him a tight-lipped smile, before looking down at her feet. “I’m sorry, Colonel,” she says.

He waves a hand and gives her a smile, “I got in touch with you, eventually.”

She shakes her head, “That’s not what I meant.”

He frowns at her, and her look of sudden uncertainty induces a particularly familiar flavour of dread that he’d come to associate with a certain unruly mathematician.

“Nick was only trying to protect me.”

The dread settles and solidifies, and Young readies himself for the coming onslaught of rage he expects to feel.

“He purposefully had the virus come after you two instead of me,” she explains.

“What?” Young snaps; he’s so tightly wound he thinks he’s going to explode in Dr Perry’s face. He only just manages to keep himself restrained. It isn’t her he should be angry at.

“He’s been telling the virus where you are now and then, leading it on a chase,” she continues. “He didn’t expect for it catch up to you, obviously,” she says, trying to redeem Rush. “He never meant for it to result in this. He’d never have wanted to experience these memories again.”

“Whether or not he thought the action was justified he should have run it by me,” Young answers, stiffly. “He _shouldn’t_ have endangered this mission.”

Dr Perry looks sincerely upset. “It’s still coming for you,” she says, “but I can lead it away. I can make sure it follows me and leaves you alone just until you are clear of it.”

Young almost agrees on the spot, before he recognises that he is blaming her for something she probably didn’t even know about. “No,” he said. He wasn’t going to ask her to risk her life anymore than he was going to let them risk theirs for her. “Continue to help the crew if you can but otherwise just…get to safety.”

She looked mildly surprised, as if she hadn’t expected him to care about her. He could guess what kinds of stories Rush had told her and he supposed, while keeping that in mind, her reaction made sense.

“Okay,” she said. Then, added, “I’ve told Eli all I can about downloading the sections of Destiny, so if it comes to it…” she trails off.

“Thank you,” he says, and glances at Rush, knowing that they will inevitably end up arguing once he wakes up.

“He’ll be alright,” Dr Perry assures him, misunderstanding his frown, and probably assuming he was worrying about having to look after him.

He doesn’t correct her and instead sticks out a hand, which she takes after a moment. “Good luck,” he says.

“You too,” she answers, before disappearing.

    

* * *

    

Rush is laying in bed, wrapped up in a cover that smells familiar, it smells like his old house back in Scotland…or at least how he imagines it would smell because it’s been far too long for him to remember it correctly. He knows he should get up. He knows they should be running. He knows that if Young walks in and sees him curled up in this vulnerable position that he’s going to regret it. But, it’s only now just sinking in. All the things he’s seen, all the things _Young_ ’s seen. He thought he’d forgotten about the boy he…the boy who’d died. He never found out who the boy was. He'd been too desperate to forget him but now he was back. Now he remembered the dead boy. Another regret. Another memory he couldn’t change. Another ghost.

Things are going to be different now. He already anticipates Young’s pitying looks - after the anger, of course - and part of him can’t blame Young because he, too, can feel pity for Young rising to the surface of his mind. He hates it. He hates that he can’t stop thinking about it - about Young’s hand in that vice, about the bottles strewn across the floor. He hates what Young had seen…he hates that he knows the man won’t blame him for it. He hates that once Young has calmed down he’ll look at Rush and think “I understand”. He knows he’ll try to befriend him, again, try his councillor hat once more. He hates that Young is going to give him another chance - after everything, and he knows, he just _knows_ he will. He hates that he _wants_ the chance to gain Young’s trust. But worst of all he hates that he knows he’s going to betray him again. It’s inevitable. He doesn’t know when or how or why but he knows that if it comes to it he’s going to choose something or someone over Young. It’s what he’s always done. He did it to Mandy, and he did it to Gloria - two women he supposedly loved - so it’s inevitable that he’s going to do it to Young, someone he barely calls…someone who isn’t…someone who shouldn’t be his friend.

There’s a knock on the door and Rush clambers to his feet, running a hand through his hair and adopting an unimpressed, though altogether calm, demeanour. 

“Yes?”

When Young enters the room he looks guarded. Rush notices the tightness to his shoulders, the white-knuckles of his hands and wonders if the man is trying not to be angry with him or trying not to be sympathetic. He can’t bloody well tell. All he can tell is that the man is practically bursting with some barely kept emotion. He doesn’t know what to say, or if anything he’ll say will stop it from overflowing.

“Dr Perry found the Life Support,” he says, and it’s the right thing to say because Young visibly relaxes. “She’s getting it to the crew as we speak.”

“Good,” Young replies, then he lets out a long, tired sigh. 

Rush watches him. Mandy didn’t tell the Colonel this. She left it for him to tell the man, as if she knew it would help his case. Except it won’t, not in the long run. Perhaps, not even in the short run, Rush realises as he sees Young’s expression darken once more. 

Rush doesn’t wait for him to say anything. He doesn’t feel like fighting. He doesn’t feel like running. He doesn’t feel like saving the god damn ship or crew. All he wants to do is sleep or drink…and not necessarily in that order. Young huffs in frustration as he follows him out and doesn’t, thankfully, say anything until they’re out on the street. Here Rush feels a little freer, a little less like his past is weighing him down. He does _not_ look back at his old house, and he does not let himself try to memorise it.

“I know you used us as bait for the virus,” Young says, after they’ve barely left the plot of land. “You realise you could have jeopardised this entire thing. You could have _killed_ the crew.”

“The crew is safe,” Rush growls in reply, “and we have the Life Support.”

Young threw up his arms in frustration, “You could have killed _us_!”

“We’re fine!”

Young shuts his mouth with a snap, and stares at Rush. His eyes flick to Rush’s hands for a moment before returning to the mathematician’s face. It’s only then that Rush realises his hands are shaking. He crosses his arms defensively, and stares back at Young.

“What?” he demands.

Young shakes his head. “Yeah,” he says, sarcastically. “We’re just fine.”

Rush grits his teeth. Young blames him. He bloody well _blames_ him. But this _isn’t_ his fault. He wasn’t the one to get them stuck in these simulations in the first place.

“I knew Mandy was going to have a better chance at finding the programs than we would!” Rush argues. “Especially with how often you’ve been getting stuck in the simulation.”

Young scoffs, and turns back to glance at the house…Rush’s childhood home. The fact Young doesn’t reply to his comment sends another wave of frustration through Rush. It feels like a slap to the face. “Where’s Dr Perry, then?” he demands. “Did you tell her to lead the virus elsewhere? Have her sacrifice herself for the good of the _mission_?”

“Actually,” Young spits, “she offered.”

Rush snorts, and looks away angrily. _Of course,_ she would. She was too good. That didn’t mean Young had to fucking well agree with her. He-

“And I declined.”

It takes Rush a moment to realise what Young has said, and when he does he feels cold. He tries to hold onto his anger for support but it fizzles out and disappears, leaving him feeling empty and confused. He doesn’t know how to respond suddenly. He really had thought Young would put the mission first…But would he? He’d done nothing but try to keep Rush alive during this entire ordeal. His stomach begins to churn and he recognises it the sick feeling as guilt. He purposefully holds his tongue, and wonders if he can even salvage the situation, if he should, if he _wants_ to. Young is still huffing beside him like an angry bull and Rush knows that if he apologised, if he thanked him, then the feeling in his stomach would recede and Young would calm down. He doesn’t though, because then it would be too easy; it would be too damn easy for Young to feel pity for him, and he’d rather the Colonel hated him than pitied him. He glances at the man to try and gage where they sit but before he can react to the hurt expression he finds there the sharp screech of wheels cut through the air like thunder. 

Rush has barely a moment to react. He grabs a hold of Young and pulls him out of the way as fast as he can, before a car comes veering around the corner. They land on the sidewalk with a painful thud. The suddenness of it stuns Rush. Young’s breathing quickly and shakily beside him, and he feels just as winded. Other than his rapidly racing heartbeat and their breathing the night is quiet. He looks up to try and work out what is going on but his vision is blinded by the sharp white light of the car’s headlights, and the red and blue police lights. He holds up a hand and watches through the glare as dark figure after dark figure steps out of the police car, obscuring the white light briefly as they walk forwards. Young is already scrambling to his feet and pulling Rush up but he knows it’s too late. He can’t think of anything but the virus, can’t think of any memory to replace this, any simulation that could save them and Young is yelling in his ear and he knows this is it. They’re dead.

They’ve failed the crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, I'm alive.
> 
> I know this is incredibly late and I'm really sorry for that. Things happened and I couldn’t write for a while but then I could and didn’t so...yeah. Please accept this chapter, which is twice as long as normal, as recompense.
> 
> Also…yeah, I forgot Varro existed whoops, and quickly added him into the fic because I really like the guy and think he’s good for TJ.
> 
> Disclaimer: I have very little knowledge of Glasgow street gangs, Glasgow slang and the 70s lmao. Google helped but I’m sure there are many mistakes. Sorry, I tried my best. And thank you Liz (IsThereARealLife@AO3) for the gang nicknames. You’re the best!


	5. WRATH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: descriptions of injuries caused by self-harm, vomiting, cancer, illness, major character death

  
_“They croak: ‘In that sweet world the sun made glad,_  
Our hearts were stopped with a slow, smoking flood.  
In these dank depths we work at being sad.’  
This is the chorus their clogged throats emit:  
The best that they can do.” 

**— Dante’s The Divine Comedy, Canto VII**   


    

Rush grunts as he comes to, feeling groggy and sore all over. He looks about at his surroundings and finds himself somewhere he doesn’t recognise. It’s too dark to tell where he is but it looks to be another part of the simulation. The virus had got to them, and he’d expected never to wake up again but…now he was here. Had they escaped? Had the virus chosen not to kill them? He stayed low but started looking for Young when he heard the man groan beside him.

“Rush?”

“Shh,” he warned him.

“What the hell? Where are we?”

“Be quite,” Rush hissed.

This time Young thankfully shut up. He got to his feet beside him and looked about. His eyes were adjusting and as they did he could see Young’s worried expression. He was just as lost as Rush was. Except now he, and probably Young too, could make out a window, and a street beyond lit up by the full and bright moon. They were in some kind of house. Perhaps, in some kind of memory. But why would the virus put them in a memory, especially when they both knew it was fake, especially when the virus had had them in its grasp.

Rush searched the wall for a switch, and hoping this wasn’t some kind of trap flicked it on. It took him a moment to realise where he was and when he did he struggled to breathe. _No, no no no._ He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t. He looked about the house, listening for her voice, terrified that he’d hear her call out for him but the house was eerily silent.

“Rush?”

Young must have seen something in his expression because he looks concerned, and isn’t that a laugh after everything they’d just said to one another before…before the virus got to them. He turns away without answering Young and makes for the front door, knowing the Colonel will follow him.

“Rush what the hell is going on?”

“Haven’t a clue,” he answers stiffly, beelining for his car, and hoping there are keys in there. 

At the very least he’s going to find refuge there, probably sleep the night in it if it comes to it, or maybe he’ll walk until he finds a motel. It all depends how elaborate this simulation is…and if it’s a memory or something else, entirely.

    

* * *

    

Young supposes he should still be angry at Rush but he tries to push that frustration down. He’s scared, and confused, and Rush is acting far too quiet and reserved. He follows him and tries not to ask too many questions as they reach a car and he watches Rush, whose shaky and jittery, search through it for keys.

He’s never seen Rush so scared before, and he looks back at the house and wonders if its that, or if it’s the virus and the fact it technically got them - but why aren’t they dead, then? He wants to know if Rush understands what’s going on but he doesn’t ask. Not yet, not while Rush is on edge like this.

Finally, he finds the keys and they get in. He puts the car into reverse and takes them out, pressing his foot down hard on the accelerator. They pass through the city quickly, breaking road rule after road rule.

“It was…my house,” Rush says, eyes fixed on the street ahead, and knuckles white where they’re gripping the steering wheel.

Young hadn’t expected an explanation, and he thanks Rush by not asking more about it. Although, he does need to know what they’re planning on doing next and Rush has the wheel. He’s about to ask Rush where they’re going when he jolts forwards in his seat and then collapses onto his hands and knees. His eyes blur and for a moment he thinks he’s going to black out but the feeling settles, and he stares at his hands, where they’re planted on the ground. It takes him a moment to recognise carpet under his hands, and to look up and realise he’s no longer in the car.

“What the _fuck_?” He looks about and finds himself back in the house. “Rush?”

He receives no answer.

He grits his teeth, wondering what he should do now. He could steal a car and attempt to follow Rush’s path. Except, Rush might come back for him. Would he come back for him? He’s not actually sure. Every time they seem to have made a truce one of them pisses the other off. To be fair, it’s mostly Rush’s fault - what with him constantly going behind his back and making decisions for all of them without even considering his opinion or the damn line of command. But, whether or not they’d fought Rush had never left him behind, had he? Whatever sort of relationship they had now - whether it had changed for the better or for the worse - it seemed to include not leaving the other behind and that, that was a step in the right direction he guessed. So, he sat on the steps of the house with his head in his hands and waits. 

Rush does return. Roughly twenty minutes after reappearing at the house Young sees car lights and watches as Rush half-heartedly parks the car on the curb and storms out, not even bothering to close the car door.

“Rush, what the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know,” Rush snaps, before stepping passed him and storming into the house. 

Young watches as he riffles through a kitchen drawer and produces a pair of scissors, “What-”

“Cut off a bit of your hair,” he orders.

“What?” 

“Just _do_ it.”

Young has no idea what Rush is going on about but there’s a strained urgency to his voice and so he doesn’t argue further and does as he’s told. Rush had come back for him, after all. He gives Rush the clump of hair and the mathematician turns on his heels and walks out the door, throwing a quick, “stay here,” over his shoulder.

Young is left to watch him go, and shakes his head in frustration. One of these days he’s going to manage to get Rush to communicate. That day is not today, though, it seems.

    

* * *

    

Rush returns an hour later, slamming the door behind him. Young meets him in the entrance of the house and watches as he stoops to pick up a clump of hair - Young’s hair - from the floor.

“Where’d you go?” Young asks, even as he realises that his hair had returned to the house just as he had.

“Had to see if we were stuck here,” he answers.

He already knows the answer, but finds himself asking anyway, hoping he’s wrong. “And?”

Rush steps forward and takes a hold of Young’s face. For a second he thinks Rush is going to kiss him and then he laughs at the ridiculous notion. Rush is still holding his face, though, and staring at him with an intensity he usually reserves for Destiny’s most confounding problems.

“Rush?”

The mathematician doesn’t notice his discomfort and lets him go. “The virus got to you,” he says, with an exasperated sigh.

He runs a hand across his cheek, where Rush’s calloused fingers had been just moments before. “So, we’re stuck here?”

Rush walks away, and Young follows him into what looks like a study.

“Rush?” he asks when he doesn’t get a response.

“ _You’re_ stuck here,” Rush corrects him. “I could have kept going but your hair, like you, just reappeared back here when we got too far.”

“What about leaving the simulation?”

“I might’ve been able to with some time but you wouldn’t have.”

“This is your memory, though.”

“Yes,” he sighs. He runs a hand through his hair, “It seems _rather_ counterproductive.”

“But…you can fix this, right?”   
“Yes, no…maybe!” Rush snaps in frustration but Young recognises the familiar tightness to Rush’s shoulders and knows not to push any further. “Now could you _leave_ me alone so that I can try to fix this _mess._ ”

Young sighs, and supposes that if either of them are going to work out what the hell had happened it would be Rush. He just hopes he works it out before the virus decides to do with them, whatever it’s planned. He settles down on the couch in the living room, feeling awkward and out of place in as good as a stranger’s house. He doesn’t sleep, too wound up and worried of what lays ahead for them.

    

* * *

    

Nothing happens in the night.

The virus doesn’t strike and nothing changes. It seems they’ve been left alone in a simulated memory of Rush’s, except that there is nothing considerably memorable about it other than the house itself. Young figures it out, from Rush’s silence and unease that it’s the last house he shared with his wife before she died. But she isn’t in the memory with them.

Young figures out more when he finds up-turned picture frames on shelves and other surfaces. He considers not impeding on Rush’s privacy but his curiosity gets the better of him and he turns one up, only to find a photo of himself smiling back up at him. Rush is beside him in the picture, with an arm around him. Young drops the photo in shock, and it makes a slap as it lands face-down on the wood surface of the shelf. He hesitantly looks again, and finds the picture unchanged. Both of them look younger in the photo and it takes Young a long and confused amount of time to realise that in the simulation, in this memory - that isn’t quite a memory - they’re the ones married to one another.

At first Young laughs, because it’s the weirdest fucking thing to happen to them since entering Destiny’s computer and _that’s_ saying something, and then he’s just confused again. Is the virus trying to kill them with awkwardness or something? Or perhaps something went wrong and the two of them were supposed to actually think they were married or something? Young huffs an awkward laugh again before shaking his head. Either way it seems not to have changed anything. Rush must have been the one to turn over all the picture frames and he hasn’t brought it up or acted any differently around Young so it doesn’t seem important.

Not at the time.

    

* * *

    

Rush tells Young that he’s working on getting them out of the simulation, and for the first week he isn’t lying to him. He spends most of his time out, finding security and solitude in his office at Berkeley University. To make matters easier Young can’t visit him there. They tried once and Young simply snapped back to the house. 

He works night and day to try to figure out what’s going on but comes up empty handed again and again. He checks now and then for any updates on the programs he’s set up, but there’s nothing, no sign of virus activity in their vicinity, and no signs of strain on the simulation itself. The trap is solid and stable, and it looks like they’ve been left here to rot. He’s almost not even sure if the virus had intended this to happen. It looks as if it’s foregone killing them, entirely, and simply hopes that they’ll die by themselves. Rush feels wholly like a bug trapped under a glass, left to suffocate while the owner of the house he’s invaded, watches on with intense curiosity.

There are obvious flaws in the trap. The first being that Young is almost unaffected by these memories completely, and while the memory chosen for this simulation _could_ effect Rush - does effect him - he can handle it. Denial is one thing, though, and distraction is another. He has little _real_ work to distract himself with, though, and he finds himself inevitably thinking about their predicament…just not the parts he’d have expected.

He thinks of Gloria, of course, because how can he not when he is living in her past as well as his - living in _their_ past. He can see her everywhere in their house, and Young’s footsteps sometimes, in the moment, sound like her. To make matters worse there are the picture frames. The fact they seem practically useless angers him more than it would if they meant something. The virus - if it indeed did plan this - seems to have left them all about the place just to taunt him, and he _fucking_ hates it. That’s why he stays away. That, and he doesn’t want to be around the Colonel. Especially, when he spends every fucking waking moment glancing over at him in concern, giving him sidelong glances, and self-devised health assessments.

He knows he should hate that Young is sharing this memory, that he is seeing his past, and his pain - albeit, carefully contained, pain - in intimate detail, but for the life of him he can’t say that he wished it was anyone else. Anyone else would want to talk about it, and while Young might _ask_ if he’s alright, or if he’s eaten or if he’s slept, he never asks about Gloria. He never questions Rush’s behaviour. It is simultaneously horrifying and relieving that Young knows exactly how to deal with the situation, when Rush, himself is struggling. 

It’s also a relief that Young doesn’t ask anything of him. They set up their roles quickly, efficiently, and with little conversation between them. His role is to get them out of the simulation and Young’s is to stay out of his way, whilst speeding up his process with any menial help he can give. They’ve devolved into their primary, generic roles of brain and brawn, and Rush tries not to consider it a symbiotic relationship but then he finds himself working and calculating and thinking, and coming back to the house to find Young having cooked him dinner, having moved or fixed something he complained about.

First it’s his whiteboard. The thing had never worked - it swung on its hinges, and didn’t lock into place - and he complains about it only because he has nothing else to say to Young and the frustration of coming to yet another dead end is overwhelming him. He returns from his office at the University to find the board fixed, and new white board markers. Young doesn’t comment about it, and neither does Rush.

What troubles him, though, is the fact that they had been fighting, and while Rush had perhaps forgiven Young - or at the very least realised he wasn’t at fault in the first place - he, himself, hasn’t offered any kind of apology to the Colonel. So why the bloody hell was Young acting so…friendly towards him?

While Rush welcomes a distraction, Young is not an ideal distraction. He doesn’t want to spend his time thinking about the Colonel but that’s what he ends up doing, and the thoughts are not accompanied by their usual air of frustration and distrust. Instead he finds himself re-evaluating Young without even meaning to. He considers Young’s distrust for him, and realises that he hadn’t ever really been all that forthcoming, or all that trustful. He’d practically encouraged the distrust…he’d meant to. Getting close to people was not ideal. He’d learnt that the hard way, several times. You could get more done when you weren’t bloody well distracted by other people’s feelings. Young had done nothing but consider Rush’s feelings the entire time they had been in Destiny’s computer.

It made him want to try…and bloody hell he didn’t know why, or how, or what the hell he was thinking, but he did - as much as it pained him - want to try to return the favour. To at least…to at least _try._

    

* * *

    

When another week passes and Rush still hasn’t got anything to show for it Young goes looking for him.

“You need to leave if you can, Rush,” he says, adopting a commanding stance. “The crew needs the next new program.” 

“Soon,” Rush responds, rolling his eyes.

It’s not the answer Young is looking for evidently because he continues to fight it. “They can’t survive with the database and the life support alone. They need engine controls or they’ll just be drifting through space. Eventually they’re going to run out of power and be too far away from a sun to get more.”

“I’m not leaving,” Rush replies, stiffly.

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because there’s still time!” Rush snaps; he doesn’t tell Young it’s because he needs his help. He doesn’t tell him it’s because he doesn’t want to do this alone, that he’s not sure he _can_ do it alone.

“Rush, if you don’t-”

“You’ll what?” Rush snaps. “Attack me? Berate me?”

Young shakes his head and storms away in obvious frustration.

    

* * *

    

Young never asks where Rush goes at night. He suspects he sleeps in his office at the university or in a motel. Young never asks if he can sleep in the double bed - the only bed in the house. He suspects Rush wouldn’t like it so he takes to the couch. He manages to find some blankets in a cupboard and he feels entirely out of place and uncomfortable in Rush’s house. Especially, while he’s absent. Seeing into Rush’s past without his consent is, in Young’s opinion, by far the worst part of this entire experience. They’re reluctant companions in this nightmare and he knows he’s over-stepping boundaries that Rush had carefully built to keep everyone out, friends and enemies alike, and he knows he’s not welcome. He’s sort of glad that Rush doesn’t leave him there, though. It makes him feel horrible to think it because he should be trying harder to get Rush to leave, to try and help the crew but he’s not sure what he’d do if he was alone.

Young sweats through his shirt in the night and ends up throwing his blankets off. He can’t sleep, and he’s not sure if it’s the simulated Californian heat or the fact he now knows he’s stuck in this simulation or the fact that he can’t help worrying that something bad is about to happen. The fact that Rush is never there during the night, leaves Young uneasy and jittery. He’s used to somebody, anybody, always having his back on the battlefield, and while this isn’t exactly your typical battlefield they are at war and so far Rush and him have never consciously decided to split up. He’s got no way of knowing if anything bad is sneaking up on him, and neither does Rush.

This whole simulation is a mess. The fact that nothing particularly terrible has happened is almost worse than being on the run constantly. There’s a sort of ‘stillness before the storm’ feel about everything and Young absolutely fucking hates it. It reminds him of missions he’d gone on while starting off at the SGC; of waiting out enemy fire and then waiting out the stillness after the barrage of bullets just to see if the enemy had really run out of artillery or if they were just bluffing; of looking after injured soldiers, and laying low behind enemy lines waiting for evac; of scouting an area and finding it all too quiet when deep down he knew that silence was actually a trap.

At least he knows that none of this is real, he supposes.

He hangs onto that and other small silver linings he can come up with, and uses them to calm his nerves. While he hadn’t ever been the most calm and collected soldier he knew when to at least try to push back that useless anxiety. He tries to focus on other things, on not just the small silver linings - but on the realness of the simulation, on how he _feels._ He finds that his knee has begun to ache again, cracking and creaking whenever he’s sat for too long. He had forgotten how much it hurt, and realises that it hasn’t hurt since they’d entered the simulation, now that it does. He considers telling Rush when he returns that morning but the mathematician is, of course, in a bad mood.

“It’s a Saturday,” Rush complains as soon as he steps through the door, “and apparently the virus has taken into account security! And they don’t take kindly to lecturers sleeping in their offices!”

Young smiles, despite the situation. He understands Rush’s frustration. He knows this is the last place he wants to be but everything about the situation just seems too ridiculous and too surreal and he supposes it’s better to laugh than to cry about it.

“Breakfast?” he asks.

Rush shrugs and Young isn’t sure if Rush feels hungry at all in this simulation but he sure as hell does - another new thing he hasn’t experienced since entering Destiny’s computer - so he gets some eggs out and puts them in a pot on the stove to boil.

As Young cooks he looks over at Rush. He finds the other man staring at his hands, and frowns, looking down, before realising what Rush is staring at. He has his sleeves rolled up and while they are faded the scars along his hand and wrist are visible. But even then they’re only really noticeable if you know what you were looking for. It’s the shape of his hand that is more noticeable. It hadn’t healed right, and some of the fingers are slightly eschew.

He waves the hand. “Healed up pretty well,” he says, awkwardly. “Grips not as good but…” he trails off with a shrug. When he looks back Rush is staring at the tablecloth. He sighs, and hopes that the mathematician understands why he told him. He doesn’t blame Rush for having seen those memories, even if he hates that he had.

“Any luck?” he asks after a while, because he has no idea what else to say and the silence is killing him.

Rush sighs, “ _No._ ”

“You’ll figure it out,” Young says, and he knows Rush will. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“I _know,_ ” he sounds annoyed. “It’s the lack of time that I’m worried about.”

He eats at the table opposite Rush, whose back to working on calculations in his notebook. Young gets through his eggs and coffee, before he starts to feel a little nauseous. He’s not sure if it’s the fact he told Rush something personal, or the fact Rush hadn’t responded to it, or maybe it is his ominous answer about time running out but his nerves are suddenly playing up.

“Do you have anything for a headache?” he asks.

Rush doesn’t look up, “Bathroom cabinet.”

    

* * *

    

Young’s cooking dinner. Too much just for himself but if Rush returns there’ll be left-overs. The stir-fry he’s cooking heats up the entire kitchen and he has to shed several of the layers he’s wearing until he’s in a t-shirt and shorts. He puts a wash on because his clothes are sweat-soaked and smell. The heat eventually gets to him, though, and he sighs when the familiar feeling of blood trickles down his chin. He always got bad nose bleeds when it was hot, and turns out a simulated summer is just as bad as a real one. He wipes the blood away with the back of his hand and goes looking for some tissues.

Rush does return, and just after Young has finished cooking. He glances at the meal, and Young hands him a bowl before he can ask for some. He considers setting the table but Rush takes the bowl to the living room and sits on the floor with his back against the couch. Young had noticed the strange way Rush navigates the house. He rejects tables and chairs, and sits in the environment in strange places like he’s trying to avoid old habits…or perhaps old memories. Young’s only ever seen him use his study, and briefly the lounge or dining room.

“Where’d you learn to cook?” Rush asks; it’s as much a compliment as he’s ever given Young.

Young doesn’t tell him that his wife taught him this dish, or that he was a terrible cook before he met her. The truth in the moment seems all too personal and too close for comfort considering where they are.

“Taught myself,” he lies; and it’s the first time he’s lied to Rush for his own sake.

When Rush finishes his meal he disappears into his study and Young cleans the dishes up, tipping his meal into the bin. Turns out he wasn’t that hungry after all. At least Rush seemed to enjoy the food, though. He supposes he should appreciate the food more, considering he’d been living off packet rations and strange and unsavoury alien food for years but for the life of him he can’t manage to eat much. Maybe it’s the result of rationing; although it’s more likely it’s the result of being in a simulation.

    

* * *

    

Sometimes Rush comes back later than he intended, and finds a cooked meal sealed and waiting for him in the fridge. He eats quietly, in the corner of the room, watching Young toss and turn on the couch. He supposes he should tell Young he can take the bed but he’s not quite sure he can bring himself to say it. He stays at the house some nights, making calculations and notes in the dark, or napping. Young is a very restless sleeper he finds, or at least in this simulation he is. The first time he wakes to find Rush there he smiles at him, before going back to sleep. Then, in the morning he asks what Rush wants for breakfast. Sometimes it’s eggs and sometimes it’s cereal. This time it’s porridge. 

Rush unapologetically stares at Young’s bad hand. He thinks back on the memory he’d seen, of Young breaking it and thinks, sadly, that it’s a pretty accurate allegory for Young’s life. Doing anything within reason, no matter how painful, to keep going. He’d once thought Young a coward for having given into the stress and drink seemingly so easily, but now that he thinks back on it Young knew his limits, intimately, but for the sake of the crew pushed on through them. He knew what he was getting into, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it, but he hadn’t had a choice in the matter - not if he wanted to keep his crew alive.

Rush is beginning to understand that about Young. That the man doesn’t exactly have a death wish but that he’ll put himself in the firing range for others when need be, and if it kills him, well he did his duty. Rush hates that sentiment in the military but Young’s way of dealing with things is more compromising than he would have expected from a military man. He is more open, more trusting, more hopeful. He is weak and cowardly but he’d never denied it, never hidden it. Rush has never thought himself a brave man, but he doesn’t admit weakness when he feels it.

He shakes his head, and takes the bowl Young offers to him, and stares at the hand that passes it, the broken one, twisted and warped but still being utilised. He wonders if Young ever gets cramps in it, feels the cold more, or has to massage the aching joints. He sees him doing that sometimes with his knee.

“Hey, Rush?”

The sound makes Rush jump a little, his spoon clinking against the bowl far too loudly. He looks up, “Hmm?”

“You reckon it’s possible to get a cold or something in here?”

Rush thinks about it for a moment, “Considering we’re stuck in a simulation, yes. Our bodies think we’re in reality, even if our minds know that we’re not.” He shrugs, “The parameters of this simulation are set as realistically as possible…” He pauses, “So, don’t get hit by a car.” 

Rush is a little surprised with himself for the joke but it seems to please Young because he snorts in amusement, before going back to his porridge. He eats for a little bit before pressing a palm to the center of his head, “I think I’m getting a fucking cold. Would figure, wouldn’t it?”

Rush doesn’t know how to answer him. He supposes it would be ironic.  
 “I think I might go for a run or something, try to nip the cold in the butt.”

Rush just nods and watches Young tip his meal into the sink, wash it down and walk out.

    

* * *

    

Young doesn’t make it far on his run before his leg gives out and he has to stop. Rush is right about his body thinking they’re outside of the simulation because his damn leg is cramping and stiff again just like it was before. He walks back to the house, and isn’t surprised to find Rush gone. He doesn’t ever stick around long when he does come back to the house.

Young wanders about the house aimlessly for a while, wondering what he could do, and ends up just trying every home remedy for a cold. He gargles salt water and takes some inflammatory meds when he realises his throat is swelling up a bit. He prods at the hard skin and wonders if it’s a throat infection. He finds himself laughing at that, of course he’d go into a computer simulation only to get a fucking simulated throat infection. It could be worse, he supposes, he could have a broken arm or lost a leg or something. He wonders what that would do to his body outside the simulation, if his body would think his leg had died.

When he’s run out of things to do he decides to go shopping, or at least see if he can get that far before he reappears back at the house. Turns out the simulation has given him long enough of a leash that he _can_ get to the supermarket. Good thing, too, because he doubts Rush would be very fond of the menial task. Young finds that he enjoys it, though. He hasn’t gone to a supermarket since being trapped on Destiny and the normalcy of it is somewhat soothing. There’s shitty music playing on the speakers, and strangers passing him by with their heads down, children crying, countless different brands of the same damn item staring up at him in bright ugly colours. It’s probably a little sad that he misses this.

He’s staring at the meat section when he starts to feel nauseous. He thinks it’s probably a combination of being sick and coming into the sudden cold, after the California heat outside, but he’s also feeling dizzy and has to hold himself up using the wall. His vision goes for a second and he blinks through it, trying to breathe calmly. It makes him panic for a moment, wondering if this isn’t a cold but the virus coming to get him but the feeling passes, just as it would in reality and he sighs, telling himself off for his over-reaction. He decides to finish up and forego searching for more groceries. He recognises the signs of a throat infection, and this is looking more and more like one. He rests a hand against his forehead as he waits to go through the register and thinks he feels a fever.

He gets into the car and considers going to the doctor for some stronger meds when his vision blurs again and then blacks out completely. He blinks through it, and turns the aircon on the car up to blasting as he breathes in and out slowly, trying not to pass out. His panic is there again, though, and he finds himself hoping against hope that he’s right. That this is just a throat infection and not he damn virus choking the life out of him. But it doesn’t feel any different than the last time he got a throat infection. The last time he’d panicked to the point of aggravating his fever and passed out almost instantly. Of course, Emily had been there to help him through it, though.

He waits, and the feeling passes once more.

    

* * *

    

Rush gets home to find Young lying on the sofa reading a book.

“I didn’t feel up to cooking,” he tells him, “So, I got takeaway. It’s up there, if you want any.”

The takeaway is Indonesian curry, and he heats it up before sitting in the living room near Young. He flips through his notebook, idly, trying to prompt himself into thinking of some other angle he could try when Young looks over and gives him a questioning look.

“You any closer to figuring a way out?”

Rush sighs. “No,” it comes out more aggressive than he intended. “Last time I was stuck in this simulation it took a while to figure a way out.”

Young frowns at that, “Last time? What do you mean last time?”

Rush sighs again. He’s so damn tired, and hopeless and he’s not even sure why he’s holding onto the idea that he can get them out of this. He’s really beginning to doubt that he can. “When I was trying to discover Destiny’s command code I had to use one of my memories as a base to work from,” he explains, staring at his notepad. “Last time I had to figure out a puzzle, while Destiny left clues all about me. When I was ready to leave an exit appeared.” He gestures around the house, “I can’t seem to find any clues, so the virus doesn’t seem to want us to play any sort of game.”

“Suppose we should be glad the virus doesn’t play with its food,” Young replies.

Rush isn’t sure if Young is attempting to make light of the situation or not but the comment settles darkly in Rush’s thoughts. He doesn’t tell Young that he thinks it’d almost be better if the virus did. Then, at least, he’d have something to work with.

    

* * *

    

Young wakes to find himself boiling up. He can’t stop shaking either, which is probably a very bad sign but he doesn’t know what else to do than rest and keep taking pills. He gets up to retrieve another blanket but the effort prompts a coughing fit that has him doubled over. His throat feels raw when he finishes and he finds his face wet with blood.

“Great,” he grumbles to himself, “getting a blood nose in the middle of the night is exactly what I fucking need right now.”

He goes to the bathroom and wipes at his face, before taking a look at himself. He looks like utter shit, pale and clammy, lips covered in blood. He wipes it away and holds his nose but it seems to have stopped. He hopes he didn’t get any on Rush’s couch…but then again, he’s not sure if the mathematician would even mind. 

He thinks about grabbing some water and going back to sleep but finds himself coughing again. This time it’s so violent he has to lean on the basin for support, and starts retching. He doesn’t vomit but it’d almost have been better if he had, because he finds himself staring at the blood-splattered porcelain sink. His coughs are wet, and when he looks up he finds bloodied saliva running down his chin.

He finds himself breathless with panic, and his stomach does a flip as the realisation that something is terribly, _terribly_ wrong settles in his mind. 

He starts coughing up more blood, and finds clumps of something in the sink. He’s not sure if it’s his meal or…something else…That only makes him retch harder. His chest starts to hurt, and he thinks he might be having a panic attack because he can’t get enough oxygen and he can feel his heart skipping beats. Dizziness overtakes him and he slides to the floor, crawling over to clutch at the toilet for support, and vomiting into it before he can vomit across the tiles. The cold, hard floor is refreshing and reassuring against his shaky limbs and fevered skin.

He’s still coughing up blood, though.

    

* * *

    

Young spends a long time considering whether or not he should tell Rush about what had happened. He’s trying to keep a lid on his panic but even after he’d finished vomiting up blood he’d continued to retch from nerves. His throat feels raw and he’s almost lost his voice. He tells himself that if he still feels terrible in the morning he will tell Rush, but after cleaning up the bathroom, and taking a shower he thinks better of it. If he tells Rush what’s going on he’s not sure the mathematician could do anything. It would also probably just distract him from getting them out of the simulation. Getting them out is their main priority, and that’ll fix this. Rush will get them out and he’ll be fine. He just needs to wait it out.

Except then he gets the call.

The phone’s shrill ring re-ignites Young’s headache with frightening ease and he’s wincing as he hurries to pick it up. He expects it to be Rush on the other end.

“Everett?”

He doesn’t recognise the voice and frowns, hesitating to reply. “Yes?”

“It’s Dr Loimós, you didn’t turn up for your appointment today but…I have your results and I thought it…it would be best to call you. Is anyone there with you?”

Young frowns, “Ah no…R- uh my- uh, Nick is out.”

“Perhaps I should wait-”

“No,” Young says, hurriedly, “tell me.”

“Alright. I’m sorry, Everett, the tumour…it’s back.”

Young feels like the floor beneath him has given way. Everything the passed couple of weeks suddenly makes sense. He knew he was sick but…He realises then that this is what happened to Rush’s wife, that this is what is going to happen to him. This is what the virus had planned for them.

“Are you okay?” the doctor asks.

_What kind of question even was that?_ “Yeah…” Young lies. His mouth feels weird, loose and numb.

“I’m very sorry.”

Young wonders if dying of cancer in a simulation will feel as painful as in real life.

“Did you want me to give you some contacts for - “

Young hears Rush’s key in the front door and hurriedly cuts the doctor off, “No, I’ll…it’s fine. Thank you, I have to go.”  “I understand. We can organise an appointment later…”

“Yeah, okay, bye,” he puts the phone back just as Rush makes his way inside.

He gives Young a nod as he goes, before disappearing into his study. Young doesn’t follow him. Instead, he leans his shaking hands on the kitchen tabletop and tries to concentrate on breathing. He's going to die, he realises, he’s going to die at the hands of this simulation, at the hands of the virus. It’s going to kill him, and it’s going to do it in a way that’ll hurt Rush. He doesn’t know how he’s going to tell the mathematician.

He finds himself laughing a little hysterically because right now telling Rush is more terrifying than coming to terms with the fact that this…this thing…it’s happening to him.

    

* * *

    

“Rush?”

Rush’s already dumped his bag on the couch and is staring at his whiteboard, wondering where to start. “What?”

“I think I know why I’m stuck here,” Young starts, hesitantly, “and why you’re not.”

Rush pauses, taking in Young’s careful and worried tone of voice. “What do you mean?” he asks, turning to settle a raised eyebrow on him. He's waiting for some ridiculous theory. He doesn’t expect Young’s answer.

“I just got a call,” Young starts, “from…a doctor…my doctor.”

The pen Rush is holding clatters to the floor.

“He said-”

“I know what he said,” Rush snaps.

His whole body has gone stiff, and he feels the cold dread creep over him slowly, threatening to overtake him. He’s not sure how to feel in the moment. All he can think is _no._ A quick and thundering barrage of _no_ settles in his mind before he finds himself scoffing and shaking his head.

“You’re not sick.”

Young looks pained, and isn’t that fucking typical. The bloody man thinks he’s dying and he’s worried about _him._ “You said I was already vulnerable to the virus…” Young answers, “maybe this is the way it kills me.”

“It hasn’t _got_ to you,” Rush snarls, spinning on the spot, “and you _don’t_ have cancer.”

“Rush,” Young says, carefully. “I haven’t felt well since we got here.”

“You have a cold.”

“ _Rush_ ,” Young sounds frustrated now. “I vomited up blood last night.”

Rush’s head snaps up in response to that and his skin begins to prickle, the dread sinking in like sharp ice-picks. “What?” he demands.

“There’s been…nose bleeds. I’ve felt faint. I haven’t been very hungry. I’ve had cold sweats at night.” Rush tries not to visualise it but he sees it all too clearly. He sees Gloria, as she throws the bloodied tissues into the bin, as she discards her food, as she tosses and turns at night. “I don’t know the symptoms of whatever it is I’ve got,” Young continues, “but I don’t think this house is the only memory of yours the virus has simulated.”

Rush stares at him for a long while, his expression hard, and his eyes sharp, and then he moves passed Young, and slams the front door on his way out. This _isn’t_ happening. It’s _not_ fucking happening.

    

* * *

    

Young doesn’t expect to see Rush again. He thinks this is the turning point. The point where Rush will finally leave him behind, and go help the rest of the crew. He isn’t sure how he’s meant to feel about the recent turn of events. In a way he’s sort of glad that Rush is going to get on with the mission. But…he also feels numb. He supposes that’s denial, isn’t it? Or maybe it’s acceptance? He has no fucking clue how he feels about it, or how he _should_ feel about it. It’s all sort of just…surreal. 

He’s not hungry so he doesn’t eat. He watches the sky darken, and he sits on the couch and wonders if, now that Rush is gone, he can sleep in the bed rather than the hard couch. He might as well take small comforts where he can find them. He’s dying after all. 

_Fuck._ He’s dying. He really _is_ dying. He’s going to fucking die, and he’s going to do it alone. How the fuck is he going to do this? He wonders what will happen on the outside, if TJ will see him flatline on the gurney and rush to help him. If she’ll cry. At least Varro is there for her now, he supposes. She’ll be mad at him, though. Maybe she’ll forgive him one day, when Rush has fixed the ship and everything has gone back to normal - as normal as things can get on Destiny.

When he hears a key in the front door he looks up in confusion. Rush barges into the living room, and Young doesn’t have time to ask him what the hell he’s doing back before Rush is barking orders at him.

“Get in the car. I’m taking you to the doctor.”

“Rush, we already know-”

“I know!” Rush snaps, running his hand through his hair and giving a long sigh, “But this is a simulation; some kind of test, and there’s a way to beat it.” He looks far too agitated. “We have the clues, now let’s play the game.”

“How can you know that this is a game?” Young asks. He really wishes that Rush had just gone. He doesn’t want to hope. He doesn’t want to think there’s a way out of this. “How can you know this is something we can beat?”

“Because there are much easier ways to kill you,” Rush answers, far too surely. “Get in the car.”

Young does as Rush demands, if only because he’s not sure what else to do. He doesn’t think he’s going to survive this but Rush’s certainty and the fact he returned…that means something to him. He’s not sure, suddenly, if he had secretly wanted Rush to return; if, despite the fact that if Rush had left it probably would have been for the best, he really does want him here when things…go to shit.

He doesn’t know if he hopes Rush will stay or go when the doctor tells them that the situation’s pointless, that he’s _going_ to die.

    

* * *

    

Rush is working in his notebook as they sit in the waiting room.

“How long…” Young trails off.

“Hmm?”

Young seems to think better of his question, “Nothing. Never mind.”

Rush looks up, and rolls his eyes, “Yes, this is the last bloody place I want to be but stop fucking treating me like I’m the one whose fucking sick.” He shakes his head, and feels sick as he waits for Young to respond, even as he demands that he does. “Ask your bloody question.”

Young settles a solemn look on him, “I…just wanted to know how long I have.”

Rush looks back down at his notebook, but his pen is left hovering above the page, “I don’t remember…”

“Roughly?”

“I _don’t_ remember,” Rush snaps. Then he sighs, and tries to stop his hands from shaking. “I had Destiny wipe the memory,” he says quietly, almost hoping that Young doesn’t hear him.

“What?” Young snaps. “You let Destiny…”

“It was either this or another memory,” Rush answers stiffly. “When I was in Destiny’s mainframe trying to discover her command code I had to build a simulation around a memory.” His pen’s leaking ink from where it’s finally met the page. “Whatever memory I chose would be completely destroyed. So, I remember that it happened but not what happened.” He flips to another page of his notebook, and Young doesn’t answer.

    

* * *

    

They get called into the Dr Loimós’ office. Rush had laughed darkly and answered with an “of course” when Young had told him his name; he’s not sure why, and wonders if it’s the same doctor Rush worked with when his wife was sick. He doesn’t ask.

The doctor cuts to the chase straight away; ripping off the bandaid so to speak barely after they’ve settled in their seats. “As we discussed over the phone, Everett, your tumour has grown. There are several ways we can deal with this - ”

“Yes, yes,” Rush interrupts, “What is it that you want?”

“Want?” the doctor asks, “I want to help.”

“Are you the virus or are you Destiny?” Rush demands.

He looks between them in obvious confusion, “I don’t understand.”

“Or are you simply a bit of useless code?”

“Nick, I understand that you might be overwhelmed, looking for something or someone to blame” the doctor continues.

Young grabs Rush’s arm before he can leap out of his seat and strangle the man. It’s not going to help. Whether or not this really is the virus or not aggravating the simulation is only going to make things harder. As they’ve previously seen actions in the simulation have very _real_ consequences.

The doctor continues without realising a difference in Rush’s posture, “There’s nothing much we can do.”

“Can it be removed?” Young asks.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that. However, there are many treatments that will prolong your life.”

Young nods, “How much time do I have?”

“It’s difficult - ”

“Answer him!” Rush snaps, and Young feels an odd sense of gratefulness that he’s there with him.

The doctor frowns, “Months…”

“Without treatment?” Rush asks, eyes narrowing.

The doctor looks between them again, before settling his eyes on Young, “With treatment…if you’re lucky.”

    

* * *

    

Rush leaves the door to his study ajar and Young isn’t sure if he’s just forgotten to close it or if it’s an invitation but he follows him in, anyway. Tuns out it was an invitation because Rush starts talking.

“There has to be some sort of puzzle…unless this is a trap…but then, what does the virus get out of this?”

“Rush…”

“The virus can’t create anything that doesn’t have an exit,” he continues. “It doesn’t have that sort of power yet. If I could get a message to Eli…”

“ _Rush_ , you don’t have to stay here.”

Rush scoffs, “I do if I want to fix this. The bloody head of my department kicked me out of my office. They apparently - somehow - know you’re ill and so I’ve got no where else to work on these equations.”

“No…” Young frowns, “I mean you don’t have to stay in this memory. You don’t _have_ to work on this. You could leave and continue on finding and transferring Destiny’s data to the crew.”

“I _know_ that.”

“Then go,” Young says. “Please.”

“And have the crew think I killed you, myself?” Rush scoffs.

He hates this. He hates that Rush is pretending like he can fix this, like everything hasn’t already gone to shit. Rush’s excuse not to leave is so bad an explanation it’s insulting. “They know this decision was mine. They know there were risks. No one is going to blame you.” He sighs, “In fact it might mean the difference between them surviving or not.”

Rush doesn’t respond, and keeps working like he hasn’t heard him at all.  “ _Rush_ , for fucks sake, I know this is some great conundrum for you,” he growls, channeling all of his frustration into his words, “but staying and working on this is not going to solve anything. Think of the crew for once!”

Rush spins on the spot then, absolutely livid. He looks like he’s about to punch him. “Think of the crew for once?” he demands. “Why don’t you think about yourself, for once?” He throws the white board marker across the room, and lunges at Young, slamming him up against the wall.

Young grunts as his head smacks against the wall. He struggles against Rush for a moment but he can’t for the life of him dislodge the man. Then he remembers that even if he weren’t sick Rush has the upper hand in here.

“Ever since we fucking got here you’ve been throwing yourself under the proverbial bus. What the fuck has got into that thick head of yours?” Rush demands. “Months ago you wouldn’t have thought to save me. You would have fought me on my every word, and instead you not only believe me that your mind is beyond repair but fucking accept it. You accept it too easily. You won’t even fucking fight!” he exclaims. “It’s this sort of self-sacrificial, accepting, martyrdom that was the reason I didn’t think you were cut out for this mission in the first place.” He’s breathing hard when he lets him go, and turns away. “I’m disappointed…” Rush mutters, picking up another white-board marker and turning to the board.

Young stares. It’s only then that he realises why Rush won’t go. He doesn’t want to leave Young behind, and whether or not that’s because he’s scared to go on alone or because he actually _wants_ Young by his side, it’s sort of gratifying. Rush sounds like he wants to try to fix this as some weird form of gratitude for believing him, and coming back for him. Young’s not sure how to respond to that. He knows he should also feel insulted by what Rush had said about him and his leadership but it isn’t untrue. Then, the rest of what he’d said…it’s…it’s too much like friendship, or…or maybe not that, but partnership. It’s too much like what he’d hoped they could be, like Butch and Sundance.

“I - ” Young starts, but he isn’t sure what to say to any of that and so he turns, and leaves.

    

* * *

    

As soon as Young leaves Rush feels bad about what he said, and isn’t that a laugh? This whole situation has messed with his head so badly that he doesn’t even know what to think anymore. His understanding of Young has been completely shattered, and he’s only now trying to piece it together again, to try and figure the man out, to try and figure out if he’s someone he might like. Go figure he’d come to this realisation when the fucking man was dying. He punches his whiteboard in frustration, and when it doesn’t swing on its hinges - because Young had fixed it for him - he punches it again; almost hoping he’d manage to break what Young had built him.

After their fight Young mostly stays away from him. In some ways he’s glad because it means he can get to work on trying to save the stubborn bastard. In other ways it only makes the situation harder because he can’t stop thinking about what he’d said. But Young doesn’t seem mad. If anything he seems happier. Rush isn’t sure if he’s in denial about what’s going on or if this is how he deals with things like this. He is simultaneously pleased and horrified that Young is taking this so well.

Young doesn’t change his routine. He makes them both meals, and cleans, and Rush lets him because the normalcy of it stops him from worrying about how little time they have. He’s working on a new - albeit improbable - lead when he hears the door to his study open. He doesn’t plan on turning around until Young has left but then there is a loud crash and the sound of plates and utensils clattering to the ground.

He turns in shock to find Young collapsed on the ground amongst what would have been Rush’s lunch, and he suddenly feels terrible. He gets the same kind of horrifying punch to the gut that he had every time Gloria collapsed and the familiar feeling coupled with the image of Young on the ground is terrifying.

He hurries to Young’s side but he’s already beginning to sit himself up. Rush hooks an arm around him and pulls him up, moving him to the couch where he’ll be more comfortable. Young starts laughing.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Rush growls; finding Young’s laughter infuriating, especially given the circumstances.

“Trying to bring you lunch,” Young laughs.

Then he begins to cough, and he’s suddenly coughing up blood into his lap. Rush grabs his bin and brings it over to the man, and while he watches him cough up his own lungs he realises with a sickening lurch that he not only doesn’t want Young to die, but that he hasn’t wanted him dead in a long time, and that he’s going to miss him. It’s a little too late for sentiments like that, though, isn’t it? He grits his teeth, and finds himself rubbing a soothing hand over Young’s shoulders. It’s only awkward for him probably. He’s too conscious of the action, of the sudden, uncharacteristic closeness but Young is too busy fucking dying to notice.

“I’ll be cooking from now on,” he tells Young.

The Colonel only nods. When he’s done retching Rush fetches him a glass of water, and then, trying not too hard to think about it, he begins to set up the main bedroom where Young will be more comfortable at night. Young doesn’t thank him when Rush leads him into the bedroom, and he’s glad because he’s not sure if he could take the sentiment. He leaves before Young can get into bed, and listens as Young continues to cough a little more, before falling silent altogether.

The silence is horrible. He realises then that he can’t pretend any longer, because the silence is deafening and terrifying, and his breath hitches as he hurries to Young’s side to check that his heart is still beating. He realises, with a hand on Young’s chest, that he can’t do this again…pretend like everything is fine, like someone isn’t fucking dying of cancer right beside him.

    

* * *

    

“I shouldn’t have come to get you,” Young says, from where he’s sitting up in bed reading.

Rush has moved a chair and his whiteboard into the bedroom and neither of them have commented on the change. Rush feels the comment like a slap to the face, and looks up with a frown.

“I should have sent Eli, instead,” Young continues, looking sad.

“Then it would be Eli who was dying,” Rush answers, shocked that the Colonel would even consider putting the kid in danger like that.

“But it wouldn’t be,” Young replies. “He’s smarter, stronger. He wouldn’t have let this happen.”

“Perhaps,” Rush replies.

“I know I wasn’t the right leader for this mission but I thought…I was getting used to the idea that…” he trails off.

Rush smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re not a perfect leader,” he agrees.

Young laughs, “Cheers Rush.”

“But you’re the best we’ve got, which makes you the right leader.”

Young ignores his words, although he understands the sentiment. “Would you have preferred Telford over me?”

Rush doesn’t hesitate, “No.”

But he doesn’t elaborate either. For all Young knows he might prefer him because he’s easier to manipulate or because he overlooks more of Rush’s bullshit than Telford would. He doesn’t want to know if either of those are true, though, so he doesn’t ask.

“Tell me something?” Young asks.

Rush looks up from his notepad, “Hmm?”

“Tell me something you’d never tell me.”

Rush scoffs and then glances at him with amusement, “Why should I?”

“I’m dying, you know,” Young says, smiling without humour.

Rush shakes his head, “Not yet, you aren’t.”

Young sighs.

    

* * *

    

Rush doesn’t go back to his office at Berkeley unless he has to, to pick up a book or search for someone from his past who might give him a clue on how to tackle this situation. But he never finds anything or anyone that can help, and he doesn’t like leaving the house for any lengthy period of time.

He takes Young to the hospital whenever he’s going in for chemo, and picks up Young’s pills. He helps him shave his hair when it starts to fall out, and buys him a beanie when it reminds him too much of the Young he met at Icarus - the Young that seemed so frustratingly pristine and perfect and fake. Young notices his unease, but probably thinks its because of the cancer rather than the haircut itself, and wears the beanie whenever he’s around Rush.

“Tell me something?” He says it now and then, and Rush guesses it’s partly because he’s interested and thinks he can get away with questions like this now, and partly because he actually enjoys the exasperated frowns Rush gives him in response. He’s not sure if Young expects an answer for him, and he’s not sure if he’ll ever reply to it.

They don’t fight as much because Young is too tired to fight and Rush isn’t that cruel but when they do fight it’s over stupid things they can’t change.

“I can deal with this, Rush. It’s not too bad.” He says it like he’s got a cold rather than cancer. “We just gotta get out of here, yeah?”

“Easier said than done!” Rush snaps, in response. “What the hell do you think I’ve been doing the past several weeks?”

“Well…we just try a little harder.”

“That’s not going to…” he tries to take a deep breath but his heart has already sped up and he can’t seem to remember how to work his lungs. “ _Fuck._ I can’t do this…I can’t stop it.”

Young smiles at him, “Yes, you can. You can do it. I know you can do it, and if you can’t,” he shrugs, and continues smiling, “then you save the crew.”

Rush shakes his head.

    

* * *

    

They’re quietly eating together on the double bed - Young carefully cocooned in blankets and Rush cross-legged in the corner.

“Why do we fight?” Young asks him.

Rush scoffs. “Different work ethics?”

Young laughs at that, and then a melancholy sort of look settles over him, “Tell me something?”

Rush almost doesn’t answer. He’s used to ignoring the question but Young looks so pale and so weak, and he figures what harm could it do. “I miss running,” he says, and he’s not sure why that’s the thing he says but suddenly he feels the need to run so badly his hands start to shake; he can feel the anxiety pooling in his stomach, wanting to be released. “Don’t have time for it anymore.”

“I go jogging at night sometimes,” Young says, “I mean, I did…on Destiny. For my leg…”

Rush quirks an eyebrow, amused, “Is that an invitation?”

“Sure,” Young says, “why not? When we get back to Destiny.”

“When we get back to Destiny,” Rush agrees, and for a moment he pretends that he believes it.

    

* * *

    

Rush falls into his old regime all too easily, like it hasn’t been years, like it isn’t somebody else dying in this sad old house. He changes Young’s sick bucket, helps him to the toilet, brings him tissues and helps him eat. He starts to see how much Young hates it, and that’s familiar too.

“Rush, you’ve stayed long enough,” Young tells him one day. “You can go now. There must be a motel or something in this simulation…or maybe you can leave and continue the mission.”

“I can’t…”

“You shouldn’t have to go through this again,” Young continues. “I’m going to die. It’d be better if you left. I need you to focus on fixing Destiny.”

Rush can see how much it pains Young to beg him to leave, and if he hadn’t already made up his mind to stay then that would have done it.

“I can’t leave,” he says, but he knows he looks like he’s about to flee at any moment; he can’t help feeling that way. It’s instinct to bury his head in the sand and ignore the situation, and it’s taking almost all his energy not to run.

“I’m ordering you to go,” Young tries, then, seeming to think that a new approach might work on Rush.

His words have the opposite effect and Rush pulls up a chair beside him, “I’m a civilian, you can’t order me to do anything!” he snaps.

“ _Rush._ ”

“I’m not leaving.”

Young gives up, too tired to argue, “If it gets too difficult-”

“Shut up, Young.”

“You know…” Young says after a moment, quiet like he’s running out of breath, “if I’m dying the least you could do is call me Everett.”

He falls asleep before Rush can respond to that. He sleeps a lot now, and Rush knows they’re nearing the end.

    

* * *

    

“Tell me something.”

He doesn’t hesitate anymore when Young asks him. “When we were heading for that sun, the first time, I didn’t know Destiny was going to survive.”

Young blinks up at him and frowns.

“Do you believe me?” Rush asks, curious.

Slowly Young smiles and he nods, “Yeah, Nick, I do.”

    

* * *

    

Rush is sitting on the bed beside Young when he stops breathing. He watches his chest fall, and never rise again. He hears him exhale his last breath. He can’t do anything but watch. The notebook with his calculations in it - the calculations that were meant to get them out of the simulation - falls from his hand, and he begins to shake, uncontrollably. He doesn’t know he has started crying until the tears stain his notebook, making the ink run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hello, yes I am Satan.
> 
> Sorry, been having a bit of bad mental health atm but I’m trying to keep writing when I can. This chapter was actually sort of one of the first ideas I got for the fic so I’ve been looking forward to posting it. Feel like I could have put more effort into this chapter but it's all I could handle at the moment, sorry. At least it's long, I guess...lmao it's the longest chapter so far whoops.


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